Three paint horses graze in a small pasture below the hill where I live. Their presence is eye candy to contrast with the traffic speeding beside them. In this little valley where the Heart River flows into the Missouri, more natural beauty exists.
Many a summer night while sleeping under the open window, I have been awakened by the yipping and gamboling of a coyote litter braving open space in the moonlight. Deer tracks appear in Mary's gardens, and on occasion a big antlered visitor stood watching before melting into the wooded draw. Pheasants scratch the ground, then fly into the trees to crow in the foggy morning air. Rabbits eat tender leaves in the flower beds, an act of sacrilege which causes quite an uproar when spotted from behind the kitchen window. And then, there are the wild turkeys...
Co-existing with the paint horses, a flock of maybe two dozen turkeys roosts in the cottonwoods above them, scratches bales open in the hay meadow beside them, and, at will, slowly marches across the road causing cars to stop for them. The story of a clumsy flight resulting in one's crashing into and shattering a windshield has been told. Wild turkeys can be compared to weeds growing in a wheat field, but they beg attention when strutting fully fan-tailed to entertain the females in the group.
Little does it matter how hard developers try to squeeze one more house into the landscape. The birds and animals find a way to live on the land in spite of them.
