Let Battle Commence

I am not by nature a confrontational soul; indeed show me a conflict and generally by the time you have turned your head back to say to me, "see that conflict?" you will be faced with an empty space where previously I stood.

Alright, maybe I exaggerate a tad, if Master is there I will have moved behind him and be peering around his shoulder with a determined look of "let them try and get past Master!"

I guess it all relates to my stormy upbringing; Master knows my father now; not the father of my childhood. I am, of course, stating the obvious; of course Master doesn't know my father as he was. Indeed my Master hasn't even seen as much as a glimpse of the remnants of that father. There is something too inherently dominant and strong in Master for any of my father's 'nonsense'; as it is whimsically referred to, albeit in hushed tones within the family.

That said my father generally behaves in 'company' which precludes all but one of my poor brother in laws from seeing/experiencing/being the butt of (choose your own word here) my father in full flow - and that time no chairs were actually broken as such.

Anyway my now convivial bon vivant of a father is my dad; and I do love him, fear his anger and wrath, but still love him. But that should be without saying.

Also my fear; and I use that word advisedly, of conflict; and by conflict I even mean someone shooting an evil look, very much relates to a time in my life which lead to my loss of myself. I really can't deal with conflict and this is something Master is helping me with.

But I digress.

The tale I am about to recount occurred last October, on the occasion of my first Thanksgiving since crossing the Atlantic to be with my Master. I recorded it at the time in my journal. And it is an extract from that journal that follows.

And I would like to assure you that there is a happy ending to this tale. Depending of course on whether you are on my side or that of the turkey.

*******

This morning there was a battle royale; a fight of sheer will power; and it was purely out of a desire to please and serve Master that I forced myself not only to endure the conflict but to triumph!

At this stage I will take a moment to bask in the moment; to enjoy the memory of that sweet victory, the taste of triumph.

I have basked enough.

Now to relate the tale; and tale it indeed is, not fictional, believe me I have the actual wound to prove it was a battle of wills and led to some small degree of physical conflict. Violence is almost too strong a word, but this is no work of fiction, this is beyond the imagination of even the great writers of our time.

This is completely true and, as I have seen on movies and TV shows; and even the news this week, a warning needs to be given.

The following contains scenes of violence, partial and full nudity and themes of an adult content.

I will at this point leave a space for those fainthearted yet curious to allow time to consider your options....

I will continue.

This battle took place in the kitchen at 6:45; when I dragged my nervous yet excited body from Master's warm, cosy bed.

I opened the freezer to remove the Thanksgiving turkey. The instructions on the package of the butterball prestuffed turkey Master brought for me stated clearly that it should NOT be thawed. I have the best Master in the entire universe as he told me he chose this one as he knew I was not looking forward to sticking my hand inside a dead bird to remove its entrails and still beating, warm heart.

Anyway it was ready for me. Readier than I. I opened the door to the freezer and the turkey which had last night been safely ensconced in the far recesses of the freezer came flying out at me. I yelped and slammed the door shut; just in time

Then I regrouped. What kind of person; never mind slave; am I to be so intimidated by a creature who is not only a fraction of my size and weight, but which also has no brain. And I am not being mean about turkey kind in saying this, as this one genuinely had no brain. I mean it had no head so therefore I assumed that it had no brain. Plus Master had assured me it was already . . . Well he assured me it was previous; as in no longer ; the turkey was a late turkey; the turkey was . . . well not to mince words, Master told me the turkey was dead.

And I believed Him; I mean the signs appeared to be there, it was stone cold, although if I was frozen solid I assume I would be cold too. It was shrunk wrapped in plastic; though the netting gave me pause for thought. If it was so dead, so no longer a threat to human safety, then why was it necessary to capture it in a net? Surely the net gave the suggestion that there was something to be contained; something that could cause harm or danger; but I trust my Master so I gave it no other thought.

Other than since Friday when Master presented me with the bird I have read the instructions approximately 12.5 times; the 0.5 time was when I returned to the freezer just after closing it to double check the oven temperature last night.

So after leaning against the freezer to gather my resolve I once more opened the door. But this time I was ready; so as it attempted to escape/attack me once more I was prepared and caught it in what can best be described as a stranglehold.

I wrestled it to the sink; and dumped it unceremoniously therein.

Then, taking time to catch my breath, I stood back to survey the situation. It looked innocent enough; though bold as brass and twice as ugly. And then I noticed it had definitely grown in size since last we faced each other (ooh that is mean and unnecessary of me; the poor thing had no face.)

So I swallowed my rising panic and stepped closer. I poked it gently; no response, so growing braver I poked it once more, harder this time, again no response. Ha! What had I feared I wondered as I poked it really hard and the thing leapt at me once more! It rose to its haunches; or what was once its haunches I supposed, and tried to stare me down.

But I refused to be cowed, maybe I am not good with conflict but a white packaged plastic shrink wrapped frozen turkey? No longer would I be intimidated. There are limits beyond which even wimpy slaves cannot be pushed and believe me this creature had found that limit; plus Master would be so proud when I presented the perfectly cooked centrepiece for the Thanksgiving dinner.

So I stood my ground and taking a knife sliced open the plastic; revealing pasty pimpled flesh; and then remembered that the instructions clearly stated that it was to be run under hot water for a minute before removing the packaging.

Darn it! It had outwitted me once. But that lesson was well learned and I was determined that it may have won this battle; but I would win the war.

Leaving the open plastic in place I ran hot water copiously over it, peeled off the packaging to remove the package of giblets; even that word makes me cringe and heave. Though I know that the dogs will love me later today; as I hope the hungry gathered hordes of guests will also love me as my proud Master stands by basking in the glory of his slave presenting the best turkey ever roasted to a hushed and awed audience, (at this point I feel I should mention that when Master read this he said I had misspelt awed; in his opinion it should be odd), who are overcome with respect and admiration for this obvious domestic goddess. Especially considering that I am vegetarian and never have thought of roasting any bird before.

I enjoyed this bucolic scene for a moment; even feeling the warm glow cover me; whilst Master's opinion is all that matters I do want to do things well as everything I do is for and because of him.

Slowly I came back to the present, and instead of the warm, candlelit room of my imagination filled with good cheer and thankfulness and people smiling and enjoying each other's company listening to a string quartet playing appropriate music, I was once more in the kitchen.

(Warning here comes some of the promised nudity)

And in the kitchen with me was a pasty fleshed (naked!) lump of frozen turkey, complete with giblets. (The giblets are the adult content)

Gingerly I reached out and prodded the creature, and it didn't move, it didn't even whimper. So I stepped closer and grasped it firmly then tried to remove the package of giblets. But whilst this creature had given its life willingly; I have to believe that or I will be consumed with an all encompassing guilt; it was not giving up its gross bits without a struggle.

They were frozen under one wing, it looked a bit sad at this point and my fear turned to compassion. And I would have let it keep its gross bits but for the fact I was, and in retrospect still am, certain that they would make the whole thing taste vile. And let's face it; the chances of it tasting good with me cooking it are slim at the outset so I don't need any added disadvantages.

I redoubled my efforts and ran more hot water over its wing, then just as I saw it almost gasp and give up its (as I thought) last vestige of fight, I gripped the bag and pulled. And the darn thing pulled back! In fact it won and I was left with just a remnant of plastic in my hand as it skited around the sink furiously.

But I was not to be outdone, and as the turkey, my now sworn enemy discovered, in my striving to please Master I am unrelenting. I will not share the rest of this battle; it is still too painful and I am not sure when, or indeed if, I will ever be able to talk about it without a tremble of my lip and a single tear weaving its way bravely down one cheek. But suffice it to say I won.

The giblets are now in the sink in their bag.

At this point I had a dilemma. Do I follow the instructions on the packaging religiously? Or do I follow my mother's instructions? I hesitated; the people pleaser in me was torn. So I decided to compromise by combining them both. Then neither the plastic bag nor my mom would feel rejected.

The turkey now resides in the oven; preheated as per both set of instructions; it is covered in bacon, as per my mother's instructions; it is still frozen, as per the plastic bag's instructions and it looks like an ordinary turkey. I set it on the string lifter (plastic bag instructions) under the tinfoil with a small amount of oil (mom's instructions) and coated with oil (both instructions) rubbed into the flesh with my hands (mom's instructions) after being well dried with kitchen paper (mom's instructions).

So far I am ahead on points. But it can yet win by purposely overcooking and becoming all dry and yucky; though I am aware of its tactics and am prepared to fight dirty if need be.

Update

It is now 90 minutes later; I am playing reiki whale sounds to the turkey, because both it and I need to relax. Master is up and drinking coffee as some "chatterbox" (I am not sure who he refers to!) has woken Him and the microwave has expired. Probably in sympathy with the now browning nicely turkey in the oven; but possibly because I used it (empty - duh!) as a timer and it really couldn't cope with the pressure.

I think it needs another 6 hours but will have to keep checking.

Update on the update

The microwave was purely a temporary victim of this war; it has since come back to life and is currently resting in a cool dark room with a good book and a glass of iced tea.

The turkey has now been in the oven for almost 2 and a half hours and it appears all is well. Master has peered into the oven and declared that there is indeed a turkey therein. So really I think all is going ok; it is browning nicely and it doesn't smell of melting plastic or burning flesh, both bonuses. So that has to be good.

Master has recovered from His early wakeup call on His Sunday off and is resting after eating breakfast.