Talented Turkeys...

It wasn’t exactly a Friday night like any other, for in a bar in Donegal there was something strange going on.

The poster simply said ‘Darts for Turkeys,’ and right away I knew I’d have to go and see this for myself. I mean how did they hold the darts? Was this some kind of death row blow-out for them in the run-up to Christmas?

As I approached the bar I had a sudden feeling that maybe it wouldn’t be just turkeys though. What if this was the kind of bar you’d see in one of Gary Larsson’s Far Side cartoons and there were all sorts of animals there?

I needed a disguise. But what?

I rooted around in the car and found a brown envelope.

“Perfect,” I said to myself. “I’ll hold it between my lips and if anyone asks, I’ll say I’m a duck and this is a bill.”

When I opened the door I was glad of the disguise. There was all sorts of farm-yard animals in the place, and only one human I could see and he was standing behind the bar.

I waddled up to order a drink taking one of the few last vacant bar stools and hoping I could get a good vantage point to see the dart board.

To the left of me sat a couple of gossiping bovines who prattled on and on. Every now and then they shot a sneering look across towards me.

Those looks weren’t only for me though and when a sheep rambled past a few seconds later they began to snigger until milk came down their noses.

“Did you see her…  mutton dressed as lamb…”

I turned away from the snotty cows, ordered a drink and asked the bar man about the darts.

“Ah they’re great craic altogether, the turkeys are good at golf (well you've heard of the Turkey Club haven't you!) but useless at darts. They can’t get a grip on them at all and anyway the turkeys are too wee and the dart board is too high. They cheat like anything, try to get closer to the board and cross the throwing line all the time so every throw they take is a fowl throw!”

He added that one of them did manage to hit the bull once, but he added that the bull who was sitting three tables away, wasn’t best pleased and wrecked the place.

Before he could say any more a pig, wearing a white hat and covered in flour, sat down at the bar and ordered a drink.

“What’s the story with the flour,” the bar man asked.

“Ah,” said the pig, “I’ve been bacon all day.”

The cows headed across the room towards the fire after one declared she was ‘fresian,’ and the bar man turned around to talk to me again.

“If you want to see something better than the turkeys playing darts, you should come on the night we have the pool for turkeys. The place is always jam-packed, there’s always a cue!”

“You’d need a ticket for that night,” he added, and then pointed towards a goose heading out the door saying he was the one to get tickets from at good prices.

I wasn’t up for any wild goose chases, so sat for a while watching two dogs in the corner playing snap until the darts started.

The bar man was right. They were useless. The third dart went so far astray it flew towards me at the bar.

The whole room shouted together “Duck,” but it took me too long to realise it was me they were calling to.

The dart hit me on the head and I fell over banging my head.

Next thing I knew I awoke slumped over my keyboard and realised that once again I had dozed off while half writing my blog and half reading the local newspaper.

I looked down at the entertainment page and in one of the adverts read - ‘This Friday night, darts for turkeys.’

“Hmmm, I wonder,” I said to myself….