"Sure, you can have the bird," said Carmella, evidently the owner of Quattro's, over the phone. "You'll have to buy it."

For many reasons, Catskill Animal Sanctuary does not advocate purchasing animals from butchers, breeders, and the like. But this was an exceptional situation. "Norman" had some degree of notoriety, as the radio station had been hyping their "turkey bowl"' for weeks. If she could bring guests to Catskill Animal Sanctuary to discover that turkeys, cows, pigs, chickens and other animals that most humans eat are remarkable in their own right, then we needed to make an exception to our "no purchase policy."

Julie and I pointed the car in the direction of Pleasant Valley.

FRESH KILLED CHICKENS read a huge sign on the porch of Quattro's old clapboard general store. I stepped inside. A line of people waited at the single cash register. Each person held a newly-slaughtered turkey. Some had geese, ducks, pheasants as well. At the back of the store, guns and ammunition were for sale.

"Hi," I said to the cashier. "I'm looking for Carmella."

"She's at the counter," she said, pointing behind her.

Another long line. It was, after all, the day before Thanksgiving, and this was THE place, apparently, if you wanted "fresh-killed birds."

A man weighing easily 500 pounds hoisted each package to its eager recipient, who then proceeded to the cash register.

I approached the human tank. "Is Carmella here?"

An elderly woman walked toward me. "Kathy?"

"Yes. Hi, Carmella."

Carmella was a small, bent woman easily in her eighties. Though her hands were gnarled with arthritis, they were still strong hands. Carmella was a worker.

She came toward me and took my hand, pulling me to a screen door. We walked into a pantry, away from the eyes and ears of her employees. She looked up at me. "I love animals," she whispered. "I love all animals. I love these birds. I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to."

I could have said so much in that moment, but instead said only, "Why don't you come visit Catskill Animal Sanctuary?"

"Yes. I'd like to do that."

Carmella returned to her place behind the counter. I walked out, hurting not just for the millions of birds senselessly slaughtered for this one holiday, but also, somehow, for the person responsible for many of those deaths.

____________________

At the bottom of the drive, a stressed-out Norman still paced in her cage. "We're here to pick her up," I explained to a toothless gentleman who approached our car.

"I'll get her for ya," he offered, and before I could span the few steps between the car and the turkey, reached in to drag her out by the feet.

"Please, let me do it," I insisted as I pushed myself between him and Norman, her terror rising again.

We settled Norman into the back seat in a large crate thick with straw, and began the slow drive back to her new home at Catskill Animal Sanctuary, where she will live peacefully for the rest of her days.

Check out the video of "Norman's" lucky day: http://www.youtube.com/casanctuary.