Call us softies, but when we got requests from three people to spare one of our turkeys... and when Seneca asserted, "but not the old one," when we told her the turkeys were going away... and when she outmaneuvered us endlessly the morning of the harvest... we decided to pardon one of our Black Spanish birds, "the old one," the lady who was always smarter than the rest of 'em and the one, frankly, who we just couldn't bear to do in. There is no wonder such a pardon exists. Enjoy the holiday.
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