A look back

I have ventured into this new land of blogging that I am using to keep myself entertained while my wife goes through seminary. My confidence level is quite low in my blogging skills but today I wanted to take a look back and see what I have done outside of Seen Now Shared, as it is all I seem to have that is consistent. I know I have to just keep writing to build that confidence, so please continue on that journey with me. The more I do, the more that confidence will hopefully rise.

Anyway, here is a look back at some posts I have tried out. Let me know in the comments what you like, don’t like or would like to see, and maybe I will give it a go.

Life in Retail

Why America?

An Interview with the Evil Eye Baby

Stuff Bev Says

Terrifying Turkey (It appears the video that went with the post is no longer available though..)

Those are some of the posts I have done over the past few months. I plan to keep them coming. I hope you keep coming back to check them out.

Terrifying Turkey

I recently found the following video from a tweet by a local sports reporter. I at first though this might be entertaining to see, but as soon as I turned it on fear kicked in. I felt fear, compassion, and gratitude as I watched this video. I felt fear as being chased by any wild animal does not sound like much fun in any scenario. I felt compassion for the reporter who was being chased. This turkey seemed relentless in his approach. And finally I felt gratitude that I was not the person behind the camera. 
The reason I am having such feelings about this video is because, I too know how it feels to be assaulted by a turkey. Before we get into that, please watch the following video, then I will recount my horror story.
(See the whole news story here.)
When I was a child we had numerous animals. We usually had about 2 or 3 dogs at a time, 2 or 3 cats, rabbits on occasion, we once had 2 ducks (story for another time when one died), we would also have up to about 200 chickens (I named one Rusty, when he died, Rusty 2, we got up for Rusty 9 I think before I gave that up.), we had a pig when I was really young, and one time my dad brought home a turkey. The turkey was to be a pet and live with chickens.
One day my sister and I had some friends over. I was probably 8 years old. We lived in the country and what you do in the country is play outside. We were all out playing in the yard and at the time the chickens and the turkey were out roaming the yard as well eating grass and what not, being your typical chickens.We hadn’t had the turkey long, hence him having no name, I used to name all our animals.The turkey was a bit of a wild card you could say. He had not been around long, he was not a chicken, and I believe he thought he was the stuff, because he was bigger than everyone he lived in the coup with.
Even this turkey thinks he is the stuff. Arrogant birds!
While we were playing my friends and I must have gotten to close to the turkey. He started to strut. Us being 8 year old boys we were probably all scared to death, but had to pretend to be tough so we got our strut on as well. I got closer, but still just checking him out, not in his bubble at all. I put my hand out, most likely to pet* Tom the Turkey(which probably would have been his name if he didn’t turn on me). When I reached out my hand that stupid turkey had had enough I guess…………. 
He bit me!
The dumb turkey bit me, right between my thumb and pointer finger. As soon as it happened I began to cry like a baby. The bite didn’t actually hurt, but I was scared to death…..the turkey bit me! Turkeys bite? Who knew? 
I ran into the house and told my mom, typical move. “Mom! The turkey bit me!” I screamed through my tears. I don’t remember her exact response, but all I remember her deciding was that we would have to tell my dad that the turkey has got to go.
The turkey didn’t last long after that. 
I will tell you this. We had turkey for dinner a few nights later….apparently….I bite back!
Teach that bird to mess with me.
*False, I was definitely putting my hand out to taunt this bird.