I grew up with animals as friends, the first being our dog Roamer. He and I wandered around the yard, the barnyard, and the garden. Roamer barked at squirrels and chased rabbits from our vegetables. He made me ponder one of life’s great puzzles: Is it okay to sympathize with Peter Rabbit in the story but condemn him when your own carrots are at risk?

Roamer knew not to chase our chickens or cows or pigs, and he joined me in playing with an orphaned lamb and the kittens whose parents kept the barn free of mice.

What he didn’t do was defend me when my parents set a new turkey loose by the corncrib at the back of the barnyard. I first encountered the turkey when I went to the two-hole outhouse next door to the corncrib. It peeked out from the back of the corncrib and, head bobbing, ignored my friendly greeting.

Roamer stared at the big bird and casually walked a little closer to the house.

When I came out, the bird didn’t show himself. I took several steps and heard the whishing of flapping wings and saw a turkey as tall as I was rushing after me. I ran, but the turkey had momentum and managed to slap me with its wings before I could pick up speed.

Roamer barked but didn’t advance. Still it was enough to discourage the turkey and allow me to escape. That time. People say turkeys are dumb, but that one quickly learned to rush at me from hiding. It realized it had nothing to fear from me, Roamer, or even my big sister, who was only slightly taller than the turkey.

My father urged us to face the bully, and we armed ourselves with sticks to swing and corncobs to throw. Mostly we just barreled out of the outhouse door and ran like crazy. My sister and I both suffered wing beatings and beak peckings.

Then my mother took action. I don’t remember, but I think my father helped catch the free-range turkey and button an old sweater over its body to hold down its wings. It attempted to attack me any time I invaded its territory, but now I could outrun it.

Then came Thanksgiving, the first one I remember. We ate that mean turkey. It was tough. For years after that we ate an old hen with dumplings and noodles at Thanksgiving.

—Carolyn Mulford