Lick Your Neighbor by Chris Genoa Read Free Book Online

coffee mug above her head, ready to pelt any extraterrestrials she saw with cold hard ceramic. But when she saw the creature on her roof, she dropped to her knees and blessed herself, saying, “Sweet Saint Francis. My prayers have been answered.”
    Judy’s thoughts turned back to one year ago, to the day. Her husband Gus Stitch was on his death bed, moments away from breathing his last breath. He had looked into his wife’s teary eyes and said, “Judy, if the spirit in the sky lets me come back for another round, I want to come back as a wild turkey.”
    Judy took a minute to let that sink in.
    “Are you sure, Gus? A turkey ?”
    “I have yet to meet a creature, man or beast, that’s more wild, beautiful, and free than a gobbler. They remind me of my ancestors, the Cherokee. They too once roamed wild, beautiful, and free.”
    “But Gus, how will I ever find you if you’re a turkey?”
    “You won’t need to. I’ll find you, Judy. I know I will.”
    “Okay, Gus. If that’s what you want. I’ll keep an eye out for the turkey you.”
    “Good, good. I want you to say a prayer tonight for me. A prayer to Saint Francis, patron saint of all the animals, asking him to grant my wish. Will you do that for me?”
    “I will.”
    That night, while Gus’s body lay in the funeral home, Judy knelt down beside her bed and, with tears streaming down her face, kept her promise.
    Turkey Prayer to Saint Francis
    By Judy Stitch
Oh sweet and savory Saint Francis of a Sissy,
Please grant by thy powerful intercession with God,
And your passionate, often misunderstood relationship with the animals,
Big and small,
Especially the poultry,
That,
My dearly departed husband shall,
As was his final wish,
Made of sound mind…more or less,
That he be reincarnated
As a wild North American turkey.
Not a farm-raised turkey, mind you,
For they are ugly inbreeds,
and farmers poke them with sticks,
As God intended.
But a wild turkey,
Wild, beautiful and free.
Not Wild Turkey the bourbon.
Wild turkey the bird.
It’s important we’re clear on this.
If there’s any confusion whatsoever,
Just send a little talking bird to my windowsill,
And we’ll discuss the matter.
In closing,
Thank you for your time,
I know you’re busy.
Say hi to my parents for me.
Tell Jesus, God, and the Holy Ghost that I love them all.
Well, perhaps just tell the Holy Ghost,
Since he seems the least busy of the three.
And ask him to, you know, pass it along.
Which shouldn’t be much trouble,
Seeing as all three of them are one in the same,
Or so I hear.
Seems kind of fishy though.
Look, just do whatever works best for you.
In Christ’s Holy Name I pray,
Amen
    One year later, with the turkey on the edge of the roof looking down at her, Judy paused for a moment to close her eyes and thank Saint Francis for answering her prayer.
    Dale, not knowing about Gus Stitch’s last wish, had a different response. He threw rocks at the alien.
    “Dale, it’s Gus! It’s Gus!”
    Judy wasn’t able to convince Dale that it was her husband on her roof, but she was able to convince him that it was a turkey and not an alien. Although to do so she had to bring out an encyclopedia and show him a picture of a wild turkey.
    “Well I’ll be damned,” Dale said. “So that’s what a wild turkey looks like. I’ve only really seen them, you know, as cold cuts and such.”
    The fire department had eventually come, and with a local news crew and crowd of neighbors gathered around, they brought the turkey down from the roof. Everyone on hand was amazed that a wild turkey, one of the most wary, feistiest animals around, would let a fireman pick him up like a baby and carry him down the ladder.
    The bird, wrapped snugly in a blanket, was handed over to Judy. As she made her way inside, a reporter called out, “What are you going to name him?”
    “Gus,” Judy said. “His name is Gus.”
    “Gobbling Gus,” said one of the firemen, “I imagine that’s not the last we’ll hear of