06/24/2026
These turkey poults are just obscenely cute. I cannot even. I have a very big soft spot for turkeys, if I hadn’t already mentioned…
In my previous life, before I became a wildlife rehabber, I was a zookeeper and educator for nearly a decade. As a more senior staff member, I had some say in managing our collection of ambassador animals, and I was advocating loudly for some chickens. So when we got a call from a member of the public who had wound up with a “chick that was growing much faster than the others,” and we determined it was actually a turkey poult, I said, “Heck yeah, let’s do this.”
It was June of 2020. COVID had completely changed the rhythm of our days. Guest interactions had slowed to a trickle, and while there was plenty of uncertainty, there was also suddenly room to breathe. Room for creativity, for improving protocols, for training projects we never seemed to have time for before.
And right in the middle of all of that was a tiny turkey named Peeps.
She was smart, sassy, endlessly curious, and could recall better than most dogs. She’d follow us around during record keeping, diet prep, and enrichment projects as though she were part of the staff. At a time when many of us were feeling isolated, there was something unexpectedly comforting about sharing our days with such a social, charismatic little bird. At least for me, she was good for the soul.
Peeps was a broad-breasted white turkey, a breed developed to grow quickly for food production. Because of their rapid growth and enormous size, they often suffer from mobility and heart problems and rarely live long lives. Peeps only lived about a year and a half, but she left her mark on me and on countless zoo guests she helped educate about domestic turkeys and their wild cousins.
So hearing these little poults peeping away in my care brings a tiny pang to my heart, but mostly a very big smile.
Because unlike Peeps, these poults are exactly what a turkey is meant to be.
If all goes according to plan, they won’t spend their lives around people. They won’t become ambassadors. They won’t learn training cues or follow anyone around during chores. Instead, they’ll grow up wary and wild. They’ll forage through forests and fields, roost high in trees, dodge predators, and one day raise poults of their own.
And honestly, that’s the best possible outcome.
For a little while, I get the privilege of helping them through a rough start. Then they’ll get to go be wild turkeys.
