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. The animals of the forest all believed in the two gods of white pelts. If they saw Bartleby, they would be terrified enough to begin with, and not pay any mind to his lack of aging.

Anyhow… let us get back to our tale. Turkey faced much isolation in his new life. He would see the same shed every morning and every night, as well as take up the same routine. He never really wondered where his friends would go during the day. He just knew that what they were doing seemed to be important, and felt a swell of pride because of it. Over the years, however, Bartleby would frequently spend mornings with Turkey. He would teach him simple language and customs necessary for him to survive alone. Over time, Turkey began to talk, simply at first, but gradually the sentences would become more and more complex. Bartleby was proud of his advancing pupil, praising him constantly for his hard work. It was a happy life for Turkey, his friends were gone all day, but he wouldn’t care, for he knew they would come back eventually at dusk.

The morning after the incident with the two does, Turkey woke to find the shed empty. It was of little surprise to him, and he immediately got up to change the bedding, almost mechanically. As he pushed open the door of the shed, he froze in sudden fear. With the opening of the door came a sudden reeking smell that blasted into his nostrils. He didn’t know that it was… but it seemed a combination of sorts… Smoke… Leather… cologne…

Then it hit him. ‘They’ were here.

Turkey darted back into the shed in sudden panic, quivering and urinating in absolute terror. He didn’t know why he was afraid… but he was. He heard the calls of a myriad of birds all around him even in the musty shed. Their cries were like the crow’s, in the old language. “Daanger! Daanger! Coom on, geet away! Haddaway! Haddaway!” they continuously called. Their cries seemed directed though… as if they were all warning one animal at once. It was then that the two crows darted into the shed and looked around hastily.

“Wheer’s Master Bartleby?!” Debit squawked in fear at Turkey. Turkey could only mumble out a small, “I dunno…” before the two birds left in a flash.

It seemed hours that Turkey was stuck in the little shed. He felt as if ‘they’ were coming at him from all sides… slowly… closer… closer…

A sharp crack suddenly reverberated across the wood. It was louder than thunder… louder than anything Turkey had ever heard in his entire life. He screamed in fear and sunk to the ground, shivering and shaking as the forest fell into a deep silence.

A cry in agony was heard then. Turkey lifted his head in exhaustion, wondering what was to come next before he recognized the hurt voice.

It was Master Bartleby.

Turkey tore out into the meadow, following the screams and cries in pain. He snuffed the air for his Master’s scent, pausing frequently at twists and turns before he finally came upon the little fawn lying on the ground in a crumbled heap. The two crows were already gathered around him. Debit was looking over a huge red gash in Bartleby’s hind leg. Blood seeped from the tear in the flesh out onto the pretty white fur, staining it horribly.

“Damn it… Why won’t they… why…” Bartleby was muttering in pain, dazed and frightened. Credit came up and quickly dug his beak into the wound. In a swift second he soon held a little black object in his beak, which was now coated in a gory red. “Why… why won’t they listen?!” Bartleby feebly cried before dozing off into a fitful sleep. Debit gently groomed his master’s fur with his beak until Turkey came forward and leaned down to clean the large, gaping wound with his tongue. “Ah… good Turkey… thaas a good hinny…” Debit murmured as Turkey patiently tried to lick the coat clean. “Master…” Credit mumbled… perching himself on one of Turkey’s antlers, “You need to understand… ‘They’ will never listen to you now…”

Turkey didn’t understand. He just knew that he had a job to do, and that was to clean his Master, even if he did wonder how he got so dirty in the first place, and why his tongue tasted a strange metallic substance.

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Ah yes... the longest chapter yet... why do they keep getting longer?