Did you guys hear about the bird that hitched a ride to Ft. Mac on an airplane over Christmas? I thought about it a bit and came up with this:

‘Twas the day before Christmas and all through the plane
All the faces were gloomy and showing the strain
Of heading back west for a Christmas away
From the family in town or the crowd ‘round the bay.

But down in the hold there was one smiling face
On a fellow so glad to be leaving this place
A fat little turr who’d been shot at you see
So many times he’d decided to flee.

But not being known as the world’s greatest flyer
He thought he’d hitchhike on a one that went higher
“Where she lands to now I don’t really care
Its got to be better than hanging ‘round here
And trying to avoid a load of lead shot
To finish my days in a cast iron pot.”

All the way to Toronto he laughed his head off
But when they opened the door there he never got off
“It don’t look like much and all hands here looks vexed
Think I’ll bide on this one and see where she’ll pitch next”

Four hours later they opened the door
He thought he was safe so he went to explore
An aerial survey had him feeling so grand
Just a few oil rigs and a whole lot of sand
He thought he had stumbled on heaven, yes sir
‘Til a fellow below bawled “Lard Jaysus, a Turr!”

Well it wasn’t too long before word got around
And the heavy artillery started to pound
Our poor little turr felt a strong déjà vu
“My cripes it’s the crowd out from Harbour Le Cou!”
Of all of the planes he could jump on you see
He’d jumped on the one out to Ft. McMurray.

So he dodged and he wove as the ground fire grew
And he couldn’t quite figure out just what to do
Then finally it struck him, no not the lead shot
But a scheme that would keep him from the cast iron pot
“Their plans for roast turr, I think I can spoil, um
If the SPCA here will grant me asylum!”

Outside the shelter there gathered a crowd
Of hungry Newfoundlanders, “I know they’re not loud!”
They had all the gear for their supper plans
Tubs of salt beef, fresh spuds and jam-jams.
A Port-de-Grave fellow known only as Bert
Bawled “send out the turr and no one gets hurt!”

The diplomatic talks that started next morning
Would soon overshadow talks on global warming
Harper and Williams arrived on the scene
Tony Blair and the Clintons came as a team
The international press reported the drama
Of the first real test for Barack Obama.

After months of these talks came a deal of a sort
And the turr flew off home with an air force escort
And since all hands was in town with not much to do
They thought that they’d work on some other issues
Middle East peace and a nuclear arms pact
And a Purity factory to be built in Fort Mac.

Now our fat little friend bides his time on the Funks‘er
Goes out to fish near the rocks and the sunker.
He tells all his buddies of his journey so queer
“Take my word for it b’ys your better off here.
The humans are certainly an awful stunned lot
I’m not even a turr, I’m a Black Guillemot!”
  Submitted By: Dave Paddon