This turkey just will not stop crossing the road

A wild turkey stood on a grassy knoll in suburban New Jersey, a tranquilizer dart protruding like a blue-and-orange battle scar from its chest. Suddenly, the bird spotted a jogger and charged, racing headlong into traffic. Motorists swerved and stopped. Finally, a driver came to the rescue, jumping out of his car and racing onto the knoll, baiting the turkey to give chase. The bird was soon back on his perch and the Friday morning commute resumed.

This was just another rush hour in West Orange, where the apparently fearless turkey has claimed a hillside along Pleasant Valley Way, tormenting drivers and pedestrians ceaselessly on one of the community's busiest thoroughfares. Efforts to capture and move it (including the attempt with a tranquilizer dart) so far have failed.

The bird's presence has vexed public officials, who consider it a menace. Mayor Susan McCartney worries that the turkey could cause a car crash and has urged residents to keep their distance while wildlife experts try to catch it.

“I see it as a public safety issue,” she said.

Dangerous, perhaps, but the bird has nonetheless amassed a loyal following of fans who have named it Turkules (pronounced like Hercules) and turned it into West Orange's cranky mascot.

“It's like seeing a celebrity,” said Ben Maimin, 35, a West Orange resident whose 15-month-old daughter is a devoted fan. “It's like our version of Taylor Swift coming to town.”

It is unclear how long Turkules has lived on the hillside, but only in the past month or two has the bird gained widespread fame.

West Orange, a township of nearly 50,000 people 25 miles from Manhattan, is not unaccustomed to wildlife encounters. Deer regularly gallivant into neighborhoods, jumping fences and lounging on front lawns. Foxes dart across busy roads. Turkeys make occasional appearances, too. About 15 years ago, wild turkey accosted McCartney's husband on the couple's quiet residential street. But usually the birds pass through quickly, rarely taking up permanent residence on heavily trafficked roads.

For the most part, turkeys move a mile or two a day, foraging in an area that ranges from 370 to 1,360 acres, and in the fall and winter, they tend to travel in flocks, according to the National Wild Turkey Federation. Turkules is an outlier.

“I don't know the real reason why the bird is not moving on,” said Michael A. Fonzino, director of the township's health department. “Either it has a nest or somebody is feeding it. We haven't confirmed any of that.”

Though local officials would like the bird to leave, handling wildlife is not their jurisdiction.

Instead, the USDA wildlife services program has made at least two attempts to capture the bird, including the failed tranquilizer incident.

“It is unusual and it's frustrating” for a capture to take so long, said Aaron Guikema, the program's director.

Next up: launching a net over the bird. If that works, it will be relocated to a less populous setting and be “no worse for wear,” he said.

In the meantime, calls of “free bird” and “Turkules 2024” pepper local Facebook groups. “The mayor should be issuing a proclamation to pardon the turkey,” Seth Weisleder, 52, said.

Other residents, fearing the bird could be injured or killed, advocate moving it.