Jenny and Harold
He was a man with nothing left to lose. The car was repossessed last Thursday. The plant sent him home three weeks before that without a word on when he was needed back. The divorce papers were in his mailbox (no surprise there) when he got home from fishing last month. He was a man with nothing left to lose.
But he had a plan to get it all back. And Jenny was going to help. Whether she wanted to or not. That's how this was going down.
The turkey in the neighbor's yard was getting plump. He watched all Summer as Bruce's kids tossed out grain, filled the water can, and took it scraps. Harold was certain the turkey was female for two reasons. First, he watched enough TV to know the difference. No red wobbler, and no big Indian Chief tail feathers. Second, Bruce's oldest kid - Nikki, he thought - was always calling that fat bird Jenny.
Leaves fell onto the lot of his rented house. He'd have to rake them up soon, or the landlord would be on his case again. It would be the same song and dance routine they'd perfected earlier this Summer. This time, however, there would be updated costumes and a festive, color appropriate backdrop. No thank you. Harold had no intention of going another round with Mrs. Wannamaker. That old bird was not part of the plan. It was Jenny that peaked Harold's interest. He went to the shed, pulled out the wide headed rake and got started. He continued to rake until his hands had small blisters. Sweat dripped from his face, and his breath was shallow. The cool, crisp wasn't helping matters. But he kept his eyes on Jenny the whole time.
Tomorrow morning was Thanksgiving. Alice agreed to drop the kids off at two. They could eat a lunch with Harold, then she would pick them up before they drove to her mother's for the weekend. Another tough old bird Harold could do without. The way Harold figured, if one of those frozen birds from the store took five hours to roast, then a fresh bird would take about an hour. Two tops!
Late that night, Harold put his plan into action. He pulled the black ski mask down over his face. The screen door of the kitchen squealed as he crept out into the backyard.
Jenny was a few feet in front of Harold. The burlap sack he got from the feed store was in his left hand. The butcher knife he sharpened that morning was in his right. He was about to make his move when he heard another screen door wail against the moonless night. He heard three pounding footsteps descend wooden stairs, before he felt the ground shake with approaching judgment. Harold heard the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked. Then...
In the backyard of Bruce's turkey dropping caked backyard, Harold managed to frame one last thought. He was a man with one thing left to lose, after all.
THE END