with the pupik jokes, you putz.”
A few moments of silence, then: “Moo-yl,” I lowed.
“Zip it!”
“What? I was mooing,” I said. “You can’t ask a cow not to moo-yl.”
“Not funny, guys, my diaper is chafing. You goyim are all alike.”
30
FLY LIKE AN EAGLE, OR A SQUIRREL
We knew we were getting close to the airport because the planes overhead started getting louder and louder and lower and lower. I noticed Tom was studying them intently, and flapping his wings a little. “What are you doing?” I asked. “It doesn’t look so hard,” he said, “to fly.”
And with that, he took a running start, flapping madly, trying to get airborne. Maybe he got a couple of inches off the ground. Maybe. “You see that?” he said. “I flew!”
“Yeah, yeah…” I lied.
“Check this out,” and he took off running again toward the edge of a little hill we were on, belting out the old Steve Miller classic, “I want to fly like an eagle…”
With that he jumped as high as he could off the cliff, seemed to hover for a moment, and then sank straight down like a stone. Shalom and I ran to the edge and looked down just in time to see Tom hit the ground with a grunt and a thud and roll a few times beak over tailfeather. It was funny the way a cartoon is funny.
Tom rolled to a stop, stood up, and exhaled. “That is another thing that never happened.”
“What never happened, you succumbing to the harsh law of gravity?” asked Shalom, tongue in snout. “I see you can dish but you can’t take, what is sauce for the goose is not sauce for the gander.”
“Yeah, never happened,” shouted Tom as he scampered back up the hill. “Like the mohel never happened, like your circum—”
Shalom cut Tom off. “I get it. No need to elaborate,” he said as he adjusted his diaper.
“Saw what?” I asked.
We walked on in silence for a while. I could see Shalom stealing glances at Tom, sensing Tom’s dream had died a little, and it seemed to soften the pig. Finally, Shalom said, “That thing that didn’t happen?”
“Yeah,” answered Tom, wary of an attack.
“Dude, I swear, maybe you didn’t fly, but you were gliding like a badass,” Shalom offered.
“Really?” asked Tom, cheering up just a bit. “Gliding is a lot like flying, isn’t it?” he said.
And now Shalom grinned. “Gliding like a goddamn flying squirrel, my avian friend, like a goddamn flying squirrel.”
31
A TERMINAL CASE
The airport terminal was very big and confusing, but we knew we had to make it to one of those automated ticket machines. Tom was still in denial. “Maybe I’ll just glide myself to Turkey. Who needs a plane?”
I protested. “No, Tom, we need your beak, neither Shalom nor I have prehensile fingers, your beak is the nearest thing we have to a finger, please don’t glide away.”
“Okay, friend, for you I will temporarily ground Air Turkey.”
“I appreciate that,” I said as we entered the terminal.
I was so happy our disguises were working.
I’m sure we made for an interesting sight—big ol’ me, well over six feet on my hind legs (Oy, as Shalom would say, was my back killing me), in a beige raincoat and sunglasses, and Shalom dressed in the velvet pants of a little schoolboy, holding our pet turkey by the leash.
We had had the foresight to register Tom as a comfort turkey, an emotional-support fowl. There was a program where you could get your dog permitted to travel in the cabin with you rather than in storage to comfort you if you were a nervous flyer, and we were able to get Tom the same accreditation online. He had taken the course on the phone, and had learned some rudimentary therapeutic insights. Which made him very annoying. He kept lapsing into a German accent and saying things like “Zat pig has ein ‘edible complex’” or “Tell me about your mother.” He told me the pain in my hooves was all in my head, and I told him the pain in my hooves was gonna be all in his ass if he
A few moments of silence, then: “Moo-yl,” I lowed.
“Zip it!”
“What? I was mooing,” I said. “You can’t ask a cow not to moo-yl.”
“Not funny, guys, my diaper is chafing. You goyim are all alike.”
30
FLY LIKE AN EAGLE, OR A SQUIRREL
We knew we were getting close to the airport because the planes overhead started getting louder and louder and lower and lower. I noticed Tom was studying them intently, and flapping his wings a little. “What are you doing?” I asked. “It doesn’t look so hard,” he said, “to fly.”
And with that, he took a running start, flapping madly, trying to get airborne. Maybe he got a couple of inches off the ground. Maybe. “You see that?” he said. “I flew!”
“Yeah, yeah…” I lied.
“Check this out,” and he took off running again toward the edge of a little hill we were on, belting out the old Steve Miller classic, “I want to fly like an eagle…”
With that he jumped as high as he could off the cliff, seemed to hover for a moment, and then sank straight down like a stone. Shalom and I ran to the edge and looked down just in time to see Tom hit the ground with a grunt and a thud and roll a few times beak over tailfeather. It was funny the way a cartoon is funny.
Tom rolled to a stop, stood up, and exhaled. “That is another thing that never happened.”
“What never happened, you succumbing to the harsh law of gravity?” asked Shalom, tongue in snout. “I see you can dish but you can’t take, what is sauce for the goose is not sauce for the gander.”
“Yeah, never happened,” shouted Tom as he scampered back up the hill. “Like the mohel never happened, like your circum—”
Shalom cut Tom off. “I get it. No need to elaborate,” he said as he adjusted his diaper.
“Saw what?” I asked.
We walked on in silence for a while. I could see Shalom stealing glances at Tom, sensing Tom’s dream had died a little, and it seemed to soften the pig. Finally, Shalom said, “That thing that didn’t happen?”
“Yeah,” answered Tom, wary of an attack.
“Dude, I swear, maybe you didn’t fly, but you were gliding like a badass,” Shalom offered.
“Really?” asked Tom, cheering up just a bit. “Gliding is a lot like flying, isn’t it?” he said.
And now Shalom grinned. “Gliding like a goddamn flying squirrel, my avian friend, like a goddamn flying squirrel.”
31
A TERMINAL CASE
The airport terminal was very big and confusing, but we knew we had to make it to one of those automated ticket machines. Tom was still in denial. “Maybe I’ll just glide myself to Turkey. Who needs a plane?”
I protested. “No, Tom, we need your beak, neither Shalom nor I have prehensile fingers, your beak is the nearest thing we have to a finger, please don’t glide away.”
“Okay, friend, for you I will temporarily ground Air Turkey.”
“I appreciate that,” I said as we entered the terminal.
I was so happy our disguises were working.
I’m sure we made for an interesting sight—big ol’ me, well over six feet on my hind legs (Oy, as Shalom would say, was my back killing me), in a beige raincoat and sunglasses, and Shalom dressed in the velvet pants of a little schoolboy, holding our pet turkey by the leash.
We had had the foresight to register Tom as a comfort turkey, an emotional-support fowl. There was a program where you could get your dog permitted to travel in the cabin with you rather than in storage to comfort you if you were a nervous flyer, and we were able to get Tom the same accreditation online. He had taken the course on the phone, and had learned some rudimentary therapeutic insights. Which made him very annoying. He kept lapsing into a German accent and saying things like “Zat pig has ein ‘edible complex’” or “Tell me about your mother.” He told me the pain in my hooves was all in my head, and I told him the pain in my hooves was gonna be all in his ass if he
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