One Sunday evening, six of us teenagers went joyriding. I don’t even recall who the kids were or whose idea it was, but we first raided a local garden for a few carrots and then continued on into the countryside. I don’t know what was going through our minds at the time, but we thought it would be fun if we went to one farm and took six chickens from the coop and moved them to the chicken coop on the next farm. Then, we’d repeat the process, moving from farm to farm. The plan sounded good to us in theory, and we managed to pull it off at the first two places, but at our third stop, the lights went on and the dogs started barking, so we all quickly ran back to the car. Someone had a rooster in tow, and, on the way, one of the boys grabbed a turkey that had been roosting in a nearby tree. We quickly drove back to our hometown of Carmangay, Alta., and hid in the back alley behind the local hotel. The police had apparently been called, as we could see them going up and down Main Street. We stayed in that alley a long time, wondering what we were going to do with that turkey and rooster in the trunk. We decided to drive to the teacherage—a house where the local teachers lived—and leave the turkey and rooster on the back porch. It was so late by the time I got home, I had to crawl in through my bedroom window so my parents wouldn’t hear me.
The next day after school, I went to work at the telephone office as usual. When the red button lit up on the board, I plugged into it and said, “Number please,” and then connected the woman with the party she wanted to reach. Now, there was a switch on the board that I could turn on and hear the conversation taking place. Well, you’ll never guess what I heard!
One woman said, “You know, when I went to feed my chickens this morning, there were six white leghorns mixed in with my Plymouth Rock chickens!”
And the other replied, “Really? One of our turkeys was missing this morning. And a rooster, too. What a mystery!”
To top everything off, the following weekend my boyfriend and I were invited to the teachers’ house for Thanksgiving dinner. Throughout the evening, they were remarking about the kindness of someone leaving them a turkey and a rooster.
And so ended one of my illfated teenage escapades. Or so I thought. Many years later, Carmangay School had a 30-year reunion and two of the former teachers were there. I confessed to them what we had done so long ago, and all they could say was, “Oh my goodness—it was you kids who did that!”