I got my very first sighting of the last two remaining wild wild Oakland Rose Garden turkeys around Christmastime. It was twilight, and the garden, already an unexpectedly magical and tidy place, was extra cinematic in the blue light, with its gently babbling waterfall fountain and stark branches holding on to just a few precious last-minute roses. It felt like a very lucky place and time to be, and I think I may have even been whistling when suddenly this gigantic turkey loomed into my path. Its partner trailed a few feet behind, looking as huge and strange and un-city-like as its mate. And bringing up the rear was a clucking good Samaritan, a nice woman who was gently trying to herd the turkeys deeper into the gardens and away from the car-lined street leading up to the park. “Sometimes they get a little lost,” she said to me, and we exchanged giddy smiles over how much sweeter life is when you throw random wild turkey sightings into the mix.

A few weeks ago, I saw them again. I was walking to work when I spotted a bird-like shape up ahead; without my glasses I at first thought it was a pigeon, but as I kept walking and the perspective failed to shift, I realized it was a much larger affair. I stopped and squinted and finally made out the shape of Turkey One, standing on the sidewalk in front of the dry cleaners and looking very lost and uncomfortable. A horn blasted off to the left, and I saw that Turkey Two was actually scuttling around in the middle of busy, four-laned Grand Avenue. Oh! Another pedestrian and I rushed out into the road, which only caused the turkey to flutter deeper into traffic. We froze and exchanged looks of alarm with the drivers of the stopped cars as we all just stood in place and watched as the turkeys darted and lurched and ultimately got themselves back to the sidewalk and pointed in the right direction for home.

And now, suddenly, the turkeys are everywhere. I came downstairs yesterday morning to find one of them standing at the bus stop, like some kind of dazed, impatient commuter – I called Marco and told him to come down with his camera:

And then this morning, the turkeys had managed to work their way into the route the dog and I take for our morning walk. Daisy was thrilled by the appearance, her bloodlust going from zero to kill within .00002 seconds of our spotting them. To avoid disaster, I was forced to curtail our walk by ducking down a shortcut. And as we did so, I busted myself feeling a touch of resentful irritation that the turkeys blew us off course. The magical turkeys, now an almost everyday occurrence, had lost some of the thrill that before would have made me happily divert my day.

But it wouldn't do to start taking those dumb tender turkeys for granted. Just like love! Because if they were ever to come to a sticky end, meet the wrong end of a Nissan Sentra or deep fryer, I really would be so very saddened by the loss. Wild turkeys! In Oakland! More words on: daisy