Hey there pretty boy!

My "Pretty Boy."

I have this way of calling our male animals (humans not included) in a way that makes my husband feel as if he's heard nails on a chalkboard.  Its a loud, sappy, drawn out, 

"Oh pretty boy!

Hey there pretty boy!"

I include all of the adoration and exuberance I can muster, and although it sounds atrocious, its definitely fun.  To my credit, they all respond emphatically by purring, tail waging, and now I can add gobbling.

Pilgrim, one of the few remaining survivors of spring raccoons, is officially a teenager who LOVES being called "pretty boy."  His slightly clipped wing tips drop and rhythmically tap the ground, then tail feathers spike up in a full display.   Once hes as puffed up as a teenybopper tom can get, he gurgles out a sweet little gobble that will soon be a bit thunderous and intimidating.  Turkey cuteness is not a lasting thing, and as Pilgrim grows he will become more aggressive and fierce.  

However, right now he is darling, and definitely my "pretty boy!"

Oh dear, I think he's checking out Willa.  She will put him in his place.