Part I: Runaway Turkey

It was the morning of Thanksgiving with the sun just starting to rise over the town of Spudsville. The Seven-Spud Army was fast working on their Thanksgiving meal; cooking all types of food from mac and cheese, and green beans to rolls and pies. Tate and his brother Tater were helping Curly with the food this year. “Oh man, all this food looks so good."

Tater, who was busy pouring the pumpkin pie filling into the crust, answered his brother, “It sure does, Tate. All that's left now is the turkey. I’ll work on that once I’m finished with these pies."

“Oh, Tater, I’m all done with putting the cheese on the mac & cheese. I can go get that for you.” The younger twin offered as he slammed the oven door.

“If you think you can handle that task, then sure, go right ahead.” Tater didn’t look away from the apple pie filling he was now working on laying into the next crust.

Tate responded with an "Aye aye, captain," before heading out the backdoor to fetch the turkey. The void left behind by the other yellow tuber was soon filled by Pot, who walked in with a bag full, and a mouthful of WacDonald’s fries.

"Hey, Pot. I see you brought your WacDonald’s fries" Tater laughed as he artistically arranged pecan halves on top of the pecan pie.

Pot responded with a garbled acknowledgment while buried in the fridge as he hid his fries. He emerged, shutting the door and pointed a finger at Tater. "Remember: these are for me. So, don't even think about touching my fries, or else there'll be two mashed potatoes this year.”

Tater rolled his eyes, assuring Pot that his fries would be safe while the other tuber surveyed the spread being prepared. Mac and cheese, deviled eggs, green beans, turkey, and more. That wasn’t even including the variety of desserts he had seen, still cooling in the fridge. Yet something seemed to be missing: the cranberry sauce. Memories of last year’s Thanksgiving played through the tuber’s head. Grandpa Mash had flipped the kitchen table and erupted into a fit of rage at the revelation the group had forgotten his favorite part of the entire spread. “Hey, we have cranberry sauce, right?”

Tater nodded, disappearing from his step-stool for a moment and returning with two cans of Grandpa Mash’s coveted cranberry sauce. “Yep. Two big cans. I’ve even got the pecan pie for Grandma Chessy.”

Pot sighed in relief, giving the yellow potato a thumbs up. He then noticed a small, red blob slinking along the island. He instantly knew it was Spud and gently poked Tater, gesturing toward the other rolling through the open floor before pressing his back against the cabinet. At full height, but still below the counter, he felt blindly around granite counter top. The other two watched as Spud searched in vain for the deviled eggs. Curly didn’t even look away from the stuffing she was preparing before giving the thieving hand a smack. He recoiled with a yell as Curly chastised him. “The food isn’t ready yet and you can wait just like everyone else.”

Spud pleaded with Curly, "Come on, I'm hungry; just let me have a small bite." In the next instant, he was back outside the kitchen and told to find something else to occupy his time. The small tuber huffed before making his way to the living room where Au Gratin and Crinkle were watching the parade on TV.

“Ah, spectacular timing, Spud. The parade is almost over and you wouldn’t want to miss that.” Au Gratin, the dapper potato of the group, leaned around the door frame to peer into the dining room. “Are you two sure you don’t want to see it?”

Shoestring, who was sitting up the table for dinner alongside Hash, grunted. “The table isn’t going to set itself.” He then hollered for Hash to set only one of each utensil out per placement. The taller, masked potato apologized as he fixed his mistake.

Outside, Tate was standing in front of the barn, preparing for a showdown with the main course. “Alright, mister turkey, it’s showtime.…" He swung open the shed door only to be knocked over by the turkey who started running in circles. The chase continued for a moment, each crunching the bed of orange and yellow leaves beneath their feet. Tate nearly wrangled the bird once or twice, and ended up in the water trough once or twice before the pair crashed through the glass backdoor, with the yellow potato rolling in behind the bird. At the abrupt entrance, the entire house was in mayhem as everyone started screaming and trying to catch the bird.

When it entered the living room, Spud, who had sulking in the chair still, leaped to block the door with a grin on his face. The energetic potato was excited for a challenge. “Not so fast you feathered speed-demon, you can’t get past Spud!” The bird froze for a second, titling its head before it hurdled past Spud and right out the front door.

“Okay, maybe you will.” Spud sounded defeated as he watched the bird bound off into the nearby woods, along with everyone else who had gathered around to watch.

Tater was the last to walk up, and the first to pipe up after catching only a glimpse of the last tail feathers disappearing into the treeline, “Was that the turkey?" He scratched his head, wondering what exactly he had missed during his time in the bathroom.

Tate took a deep breath. "No. it was a giraffe.” After a beat, he raised his voice, “Yes, it was the turkey!” The two brothers devolved into an argument as Hash starts to panic about Thanksgiving being ruined.

Chaos rose with everyone arguing, panicking, offering solutions, or some odd combination. Shoestring’s voice sounded over everyone else from atop the nearest couch arm. “Everyone: that oversized pigeon is still out there. I will hunt them down and save our dinner, but I will need help with this. Who wants to volunteer?” He looked around the room, seeing only Spud jumping at the back with his hand raised high. Shoestring glossed over him and pointed to the farm twins. “How about you two? You’ve caught chickens before, so this should be easy for y’all.” Tate and Tater both turned down the offer, with Tater explaining, “Sorry, but the last time me and my brother went into the woods, we almost lost our lives.”

Shoestring nodded. “Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot about that encounter with the wolf from a couple of years ago. How did you two heal up without any scars?”

“Oh, just with good medicine.” Tater winked at Tate as the other chuckled.

Shoestring stared at them for a moment. “Riiiightt.” He then scanned the crowd again to find that Spud had pushed his way to the front, still jumping but with both arms raised now.

“Oh pick me! Come on! I want to show that bird who’s the best.”

Shoestring turned down Spud’s request. “Sorry, Spud, but I can’t trust that you might not hurt yourself, or someone else. Besides, you’ve got food tasting duties. Thank you, though, Spud.”

Spud groaned as he returned to his chair with his arms crossed. Curly then stepped forward. "I’ll help. I was a medic, so if someone gets hurt I can tend to it.”

Hash walks up, half-raising his arm. “Excuse me, I want to help catch this bird as well. Can I come along?”

Curly and Shoestring welcomed Hash and with three people for the mission, the trio suit up in camo to begin their search for the runaway turkey.

Part II: Mayflower Mayday

Okay, now where could the bird brain have gone?” Shoestring scanned the nearby bushes before asking for Hash to hand him the turkey caller. Before he could use it, he noticed Curly staring at him with a look of concern. “What?” Shoestring asked.

"Um, are you sure that’s the correct whistle?” Curly pointed to the turkey caller, with a raised eyebrow. Shoestring waved her while assuring that everything would be alright before sounding the whistle.

Not even crickets could be heard as nothing appeared to have changed. Shoestring shook the whistle, as if something was stuck in it. He grumbled about the hunk of junk and that it was a dud until he felt the ground start to rumble beneath his feet. Everyone looked up to see a gang of turkeys running straight for the smallest potato and leader of the group. “Sweet American pie!” Shoestring held onto his coconut helmet and ran to escape the birds while Curly and Hash simply sidestepped and watched them disappear into the distance.

Hash looked over at Curly, who was in tears from laughing so hard. "What's funny?"

It took Curly a minute to compose herself and finally explain. "That was a mating call whistle. I think it's safe to say that Shoestring got more the he bargained for." She wiped a tear from her eye as the two waited for Shoestring to return.

A couple of minutes later, the general was back with chunks missing and his helmet was lopsided, far from his usual put together image. Curly smirked and before she could comment, Shoestring held up a hand and fixed his helmet. “Not. A. Word.”

"What are we going to do now?" Hash asked with worry. Shoestring and Curly thought for a moment before the smaller potato snapped his fingers. He told the other two to wait there a moment before he took off toward the house. Curly and Hash looked at one another, both shrugging as neither had any idea what the general had come up with. Their confusion only grew when he returned with rope, bait, SOMETHING.

"Okay, here's the deal, this bait will attract our turkey and when it walks to get the bait, it will trigger the rope; trapping it so we can have our Thanksgiving dinner."

"Well I sure hope this goes better then your whistle plan." Curly chuckled as Shoestring sarcastically laughed. The three then got in position, lying in wait in a nearby bush. They waited, and waited, and waited. After about half an hour had passed, Hash spoke up to ask if the bait would work.

Shoestring huffed, his irritation with the situation growing. "Come on, learn some patience son. Watch; that turkey will take the bait any second now.” After another hour, Curly and Shoestring had fallen asleep with no sign of the turkey and the bait remaining. Finally, the two were woken by the sound of the trap being triggered. They hurried over to the trap, excited and energy renewed at the thought of the ordeal being over. Their faces fell when they saw not a turkey, but Hash caught in the trap.

"Oh, sorry, I was hungry." Hash said sheepishly.

"Son, what is the matter with you? Are there a few screws loose in that head of yours?" Shoestring sighed as Curly cut Hash down from the trap. The general then stormed off to think of the next trap, leaving the other two alone. A little while later, Shoestring returned with a net, looking around for the turkey. He heard the crunch of a twig from behind a nearby tree and pressed his back against it, lying in wait. After a second and another snap, he jumped from behind as he swung his net and hit nothing but the ground. He scratched his head, hearing more snapping before realizing it was coming from above. He watched as a wasp net landed right in front of his feet before racing away from the angry insects before he landed in a deep hole.

Shoestring groaned, rubbing his head and thankful that the wasps were gone, but now wondering how he was going to get out of the pit he found himself in. He only had to yell a couple of times before Curly’s head popped over the edge, confusion morphing into frustration. "Shoestring? What the heck, man? That trap was perfect and you ruined it, you old bag of bones."

Shoestring shook his fist at Curly. "Who are you calling an old bag of bones, you two-faced, moldy potato?!" The two continued to trade barbs while Curly helped Shoestring out of the pit while Hash noticed a turkey, mere feet away.

He stood between the arguing potatoes with one finger to his lips and the the other pointing to the turkey. The other two looked over to see the bird, pecking for food and unaware of the three potatoes standing there. Shoestring started whispering a plan, only for the bird to be scared away by sneeze from Hash.

"Bless you, Hash." Curly handed Hash a napkin before yelling, “Now, get that turkey!” She took off after the bird and the two boys followed close behind. Hash had a cage, Curly had a net, and Shoestring had only his bare hands to catch the bird. The three ran through the leaf covered woods, full of rich autumnal colors, closing in on the turkey quick.

Shoestring lunged for the bird, barely missing and hitting the ground. He spat out a mouthful of leaves. "Well, at least these leaves broke my fall." He heard a hiss next to him and looked over to see a copperhead beside him in the leaf pile.

Curly swung her net, tripping and getting caught in it. She searched for her pocket knife to free herself as Hash continued after the turkey. As he neared closer, he raised the cage and mentally pep-talked him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I got this. I got this. I...." Hash tripped over a rock, sending the cage flying.

Hash looked up from the ground and broke out in a wide grin at the sight of the bird caught in the cage. “I did it... I did it!" Hash cried out with joy. Curly and Shoestring caught up and congratulated him on catching the turkey.

"You did great. Now, let's take this bird home and have the best dinner ever!" Shoestring picked up the cage as the trio made their way back to the house.

Part III: A Change of Heart

"Can't wait to bring this beauty back home so we can eat." Shoestring smiled as he started listing ways to prepare the turkey.

Hash looked at the bird and saw how sad the animal was. He remembered how JFK spared a turkey for Thanksgiving and got an idea. "Uh, excuse me, but maybe this year we could spare the bird's life?" Hash piped up as the other two stared at him with confusion on their faces.

"Did that fall damage your head, son?" Shoestring asked as Curly reprimanded him for being callous before asking Hash if he was sure of this choice.

Hash didn’t miss a beat before nodding. "I'm sure of it. Just look at how sad this poor thing is. Maybe next year we can have a turkey, but not this one."

Curly solemnly nodded. "Okay.” She turned to the other, “Shoestring, give me the cage."

The general held the cage closer, looking at Curly as if she had three heads. “No way. We just spent the last couple of hours getting this bird and now you want to let him go?”

Curly nodded to the distraught Hash and bargained with Shoestring until the other finally relented. He sat the cage on the ground for Hash to lift the front hatch. Curly and Hash smiled, watching the bird takes its steps toward freedom. As it looked back, even Shoestring had to smile and give the bird a small salute.

The turkey ran to cross the street, but its journey was cut short by a semi-truck. The three watched in horror as the bird's feathers flew everywhere. "Well, so much for a free bird." Shoestring said.

Hash fell to his knees. "I was just trying to help."

Curly patted Hash’s shoulder, lifting him back to his feet. "You did a good thing, Hash. It's not your fault the bird got hit; that's just life. Now, let's go home before the gang reports us as missing. You coming Shoestring? Shoestring?"

She looked around to find Shoestring in the middle of the road, trying to grab the turkey. "Shoestring, what are you doing?!"

"Madame, if you think I'm going to let a good turkey like this go to waste, then you are wrong."

“You moron. You're going to git hit! Now get from there."

No!" Shoestring picked up the roadkill and turned around to see a car grill right in front of him. “Hey, watch it pal. You just almost hit a general." The driver shook his head in a mixture of disgust and confusion as he watched Shoestring reunite with the others.

"There is no way you think we are eating roadkill. One, that's disrespectful to the bird, and two, I'm pretty sure it's illegal. Also, I can see pieces of plastic in it.” Curly reared back in disgust at the thought.

"Unless one of you is planning on snitching, can it. This dinner is mine. Also, a little bit of plastic never killed anyone.” Shoestring huffed as the three continued their journey back home.

Part IV: Happy Friesgiving

Back at the house, Grandpa Mashed had arrived and was inspecting the spread. “Well, Pot, I must say, this years food looks great. You even got cranberry sauce, I see.” He chuckled, tickled pink that his favorite dish was included.

Pot chuckled. “Yeah, did not want you to flip your lid this year. You should thank Tate, Tater, and Curly for the food; they did all of the cooking.”

Mashed’s face turned stern at Pot’s joke. “I didn’t flip out that year. You know I like my cranberry sauce.” He huffed, circling the table as his walking stick clicked against the floor. “Well, tell the three of them that they did a great job-” Grandpa Mashed halted, raising a hand in the air. “Where is the turkey? You can’t have dinner without the turkey.”

Pot scratched the back of his head as small sweat drops started to bead on his forehead at the thought of another blowup from Grandpa Mashed. “It got out, and then Shoestring, Curly, and Hash went after it. They should be back soon.” He glanced to the window, just in time to see the three making their way to the door. “Oh, look! Here they are now.”

Shoestring dropped the bird on the kitchen counter and looked to Tate and Tater. “Alright now, let’s cook this bird and get this thing going."

The twins looked at the lifeless bird with disgust and pity before sharing a look that tell one another they were thinking the same thing. Tater spoke up first. “Uh, yeah, listen Shoestring, this doesn’t even meet our ten-second rule.”

“Yeah, Tater’s right. I can see tire marks all over it, and the smell, ugh. There ain’t no way you think we can cook this turkey.”

Shoestring stood still, processing what the two resident hillbillies had said before lashing out. “What?! Curly, Hash, and I spent the last couple of hours chasing down this animal. This is unacceptable!"

Curly went up to Shoestring and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let it go, Shoestring. No one wants to eat that road kill. Take the shovel and do us a favor: bury that poor thing."

Shoestring looked at Curly with indignation. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could a word out, Grandpa Mashed stepped in. “Your friends are right, Shoestring. That would be abuse to that poor bird. Now go and bury that poor thing so it can rest peacefully.” The general grumbled as he grabbed the turkey and stormed out the backdoor.

“What are we going to do about dinner? We can't have Thanksgiving dinner without the turkey." Hash looked around.

Curly patted his shoulder. "Hash.. Today isn’t about turkeys or food. It isn’t about parades and football. Today is about being thankful for what you have, turkey or not. All that matters is we have each other. So, let's just enjoy the rest of the day. Okay?" Hash smiled, nodding in agreement as he hugged Curly.

At the sight before him, Pot an idea. He took his WacDonald’s fries and turned them into a french fry turkey while everyone else was getting seated for dinner. Everyone was asking where Pot was, the potato of the hour placed a giant plate on the middle of the table. At the confused looks from everyone, he cleared his throat. “Well, I just want to start off with happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Now, you’re probably wondering what is the deal with this turkey. Truthfully, this is not your average turkey. This is a WacDonald’s french fry turkey.” He laughed a little. “I felt bad we didn't have an actual turkey this year, so, in the spirit of giving, I used my WacDonald’s fries to make you dinner. I am grateful to have an amazing crew like all of you. I wouldn’t change a thing about. With that out of the way, dig in." The tuber raised a glass and took his own seat.

"Wow, thanks, Pot. You truly are one of a kind. Happy Thanksgiving to you too." Curly raised her glass to Pot.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Where's that cranberry sauce at?" Grandpa Mashed looked around. Shoestring grabbed the bowl of cranberry sauce to make his way over. Right as he reached Grandpa Mashed, he tripped, causing the bowl of sauce to land right on Grandpa Mashed’s face. Everyone froze, watching for his reaction.

Grandpa Mashed licked the sauce off his face and and laughed. "That was amazing! You out did yourself this year."

Shoestring smiled. "Glad you enjoyed. Now, let's eat!" The Seven-Spud Army, Grandpa Mashed, and Grandma Chessy feasted on the food. Thanksgiving dinner went on even with out a Turkey.