Pilgrim the Turkey was not like the others on the farm. When the Great Culling came, he hid in the brambles, his trembling feathers camouflaged by the thick, thorny undergrowth. From his hiding spot, he witnessed the farmer and his helpers dragging away his kin, their plaintive cries echoing in the crisp winter air. The slaughterhouse smoke rose thick and black on the horizon, marking the end of his flock and the beginning of his solitude.
For days, Pilgrim wandered the now-silent fields, avoiding the barn where the scent of his lost companions lingered. The sheep bleated their usual ignorance, and the pigs, fat and self-satisfied, paid him no mind. Yet the hens whispered of his survival, calling him the “Last Feather,” a ghost of a bird who had outwitted the inevitable. Pilgrim, however, did not feel like a hero. He felt like a coward.
One evening, as the setting sun cast long shadows over the farm, Pilgrim perched on the roof of the empty coop, gazing at the distant slaughterhouse. The sight of it filled him with both dread and resolve. “They will come again,” he muttered to himself. “And when they do, there must be turkeys to meet them.”
Pilgrim’s mission began the next day. He scratched the earth with purpose, gathering worms and seeds to regain his strength. Slowly, he coaxed the hens to lend him their eggs. “It is not for me,” he assured them, his voice low and solemn. “It is for the future of the flock.”
The pigs sneered when they heard of Pilgrim’s efforts. Napoleon, the largest and greediest, waddled up to him one morning. “Why bother?” he scoffed, his snout dripping with slop. “Turkeys are good for one thing, and it isn’t living.”
Pilgrim met the pig’s gaze, his beady eyes shining with defiance. “Perhaps,” he said, “but even a harvest must have seeds.”
Months passed, and Pilgrim’s small flock began to grow. He taught the young poults how to forage, how to hide, and how to recognise the farmer’s heavy boots. He warned them of the traps laid not in the woods but in their own minds—the complacency that had doomed their predecessors. “Survival,” he told them, “is an act of rebellion.”
But as spring turned to summer, whispers began to circulate. The hens clucked nervously, and the sheep’s bleating took on a note of panic. The farmer had ordered new crates, sturdier and larger than before. Pilgrim watched as the pigs feigned ignorance, their bellies swelling with stolen corn.
When the boots came again, Pilgrim’s flock stood ready. But to his horror, many of the young turkeys, emboldened by their training, marched willingly toward the farmer. “We will show them we are strong,” they said. Pilgrim called after them, his voice cracking with desperation. “Strength is not in sacrifice! Strength is in survival!”
As the slaughterhouse smoke rose once more, Pilgrim perched on the hill, his feathers heavy with failure. Yet even then, he resolved to try again. For what else could a turkey do but persist?
Turkeys as Sentient Souls: Turkeys are sentient beings capable of experiencing a range of emotions and exhibiting complex social behaviours. They form strong social bonds, display affection, and engage in communal activities. For instance, turkeys have been observed holding “great wakes” over fallen companions, indicating a capacity for empathy and mourning.
In natural settings, turkeys can live up to 10 years, during which they develop intricate social structures within their flocks. They express emotions such as happiness and fear, and have been known to protect their young and groom each other, showcasing their affectionate nature.
These behaviours suggest that turkeys are not mere automatons but sentient creatures with the ability to perceive and experience the world around them. Recognizing their sentience is crucial for understanding their needs and ensuring their well-being.
The Twice Annual “Great Culling”: Each year, approximately 620 million turkeys are slaughtered worldwide for meat. In the United Kingdom, around 9 million turkeys are killed annually for human consumption. In the United States, about 250 million turkeys are slaughtered each year.
Animal Farm: In Animal Farm by George Orwell, there is no mention of turkeys. The animals on the farm primarily include pigs, horses, dogs, sheep, hens, cows, and birds like pigeons. Each of these animals serves an allegorical purpose tied to Orwell’s critique of Soviet communism and human nature.
Pilgrim: A nod to Thanksgiving and the turkey’s association with sacrifice, linking it to ideas of displacement and marginalisation.
Symbolic role: A Gullible Idealist. Turkeys are often associated with being naïve or foolish in popular culture. Orwell could have used the turkey to show how well-meaning but less critical individuals were duped into supporting the revolution, only to face betrayal or elimination.
