Perhaps I should go into Turkey’s years as Master Bartleby’s cleaner. However, if I did, you probably fall fast asleep in your chairs. The truth is Turkey had a fairly monotonous life from his sudden employment to what you just saw. Every morning he would clean out old grass from the shed and dispose of it in the nearby thickets. After this he would use his teeth to cut new stalks and place them in the shed for new, fresh bedding. Then he would graze about the clearing, occasionally snuffing the air and rubbing his antlers against trees.
It would be then that Debit and Credit might come along to rest or prepare for another task that Bartleby had put on them. The two crows had gotten a bit older over the years, and had lost a little bit of their sharpness of tongue. Their normally black feathers were graying a bit, slowly merging to match the bold whiteness their bodies once boasted. After the crows would come and go, Bartleby might come to the shed for a quick cleaning. Turkey’s long, slender tongue would bath the little fawn’s stunning pelt.
Perhaps we should concern ourselves no more with Turkey’s usual day, as that seems to have little importance right now, and turn to our Bartleby. Despite the constant rotating of years and Turkey’s slow progression into a stag, Bartleby had stayed the same. He never grew physically, always keeping the same form of body. No one would question this. The crows seemed to already know the answer and Turkey didn’t really seem to notice the lack of maturity. Intruders were frowned upon by Bartleby, and were quickly chased off, so no one else really knew the fawn well enough to question him. ‘They’ might take this scientific phenomenon of a fawn and examine him from head to toe, as curious as ‘they’ usually are. But we must remember that this story is about animals, not ‘they’, animals are not as curious about science as ‘they’ are. Rather, they are more into superstition.
