A friend for the turkey

Turkey is much happier this morning, roaming all over the yard, hiccuping lustily.  Meanwhile, I found a woman in Rohnert Park who has three heritage toms for sale at a fair price. Should I? I think I should.  I have emailed her with queries as to their temperament and flying abilities and if the answers are to my liking, Owen and I will take a short drive north tomorrow afternoon and bring home a friend for our girl. ONE friend. We have another errand in the general vicinity involving miniature goats, but we will not be bringing home miniature goats. Not yet, anyway. Probably not ever.

*****

I have a tough, but (I think) fair essay about Jonathan Safran Foer's Eating Animals up on Doublex today. You can read it here. I wrote a balanced review a few weeks ago; this is a more personal reaction. I keep wanting to undercut myself and say it's a bitchy essay, but I just wrote what I thought and believe to be true. 

 

The coverage for this book has been non-stop and almost universally adoring. Here's the opener to Laurie David's review, which I read this morning:  "A young, self-effacing, quiet, humble novelist from Brooklyn has written a powerful, groundbreaking book that might very well save our lives and the planet, if only everyone would read it." 

At first I thought it was parody. It is not. 

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