Tommy's Request

         Thirty years have passed since my best friend, Tommy, asked that I kill him. His request came on a crisp morning in November; to be exact, it was the day before Thanksgiving.
         To set the scene, I’m a third-generation Iowan pig farmer. Each morning, after checking my pigs health and happiness, I would loosen the bursitis in my elbows and shoulders pitching horseshoes.
         I was about to toss a ringer when Tommy ambled to the pitch looking a bit forlorn. Hoping to chase the gloom, I cheerfully spouted, “Good morning, Tommy. Do ya think the rain’ll hurt the rhubarb?”
         Always upbeat and happy, Tommy’s response was uncharacteristic; more businesslike and somber. “Good morning, Zak. I have something very special to ask of you.”
         Tommy rarely asked for anything, let alone something special. “Ask away, Tommy. What’s on your mind?”
         “Well, I’m hoping…”
         I could tell by the tone of Tommy’s voice something was bothering him. “What is it, Tommy? I’ve never seen you so serious.”

         "First, let me say how grateful I am to you, Sarah, and the kids for your love and generosity. Since that day, five years ago, when I was struck by lightning and you guys nursed me from the fringes of death, I have been treated as one of the family.”
         Tommy’s words hit a soft spot. “Tommy, you are one of the family; Sarah, the kids, and I are truly blessed to have you in our lives. We love you very much.”
         “Yeah, Zak, I know that, and I love you guys, too. That’s why what I am about to ask may come as a shock, but the time has come.”

         I dropped the horseshoe that I was about to toss. I could tell by the look in Tommy's eyes that what he wanted to say was very important and not easy for him to spit out. “The time has come for what, Tommy?”
         “Look, let’s face reality, Zak. We are all given just so much time and I know my time is about up.”
         Attempting to reassure Tommy that what he was saying was premature of fruition, I said with confidence, “Now, don’t be talkin’ that way. Who knows how long you’ll live? After all, Tommy, you aren't an ordinary turkey. You don’t know what that lightning bolt did to you. I mean, I’ve never heard of another turkey that can do the things you can do. You can talk; you can read; you can do all sorts of marvelous things. Maybe being electrified by lightening did something to alter your life expectancy, too. Shucks, Tommy, maybe you’ll live forever.”
         I believed what I was saying, but Tommy, sensing my words were just so much gas, responded, “That’d be nice, Zak, but it ain’t gonna happen. Look at my feathers: they’re beginning to droop.”
         I took a closer look at Tommy’s feathers. They were as he said, but to me, they didn’t look all that bad; they still had plenty of color and perk.
         It was at that moment Tommy stated his request: “Zak, my friend, I thought it would be a good idea that instead of me enjoying tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner with you, Sarah, and the kids, that you guys enjoy me.”
         “Enjoy you? What are you saying?”
         Tommy continued his request. “Before my physical being deteriorates any further, I want you to off me. I want me to be your family’s main dish tomorrow. If you’ll do that for me, I’ll be most honored.”
         I refused to believe what I was hearing. My best friend wanted me to murder him and if that wasn’t numbing enough, he wanted me to eat him, too. As tears poured from my eyes, I blubbered, “Kill you, Tommy? Never would I. Not ever.”
         Tommy, in an effort to calm my emotional state, continued: “Zak, my dear friend, please, no tears. I know I will soon be dead. Being struck by lightning gave me something more than a few amusing freak-show tricks. It gave me the ability to know when my clock will stop ticking. Like it or not, there’s nothin’ you can do to stop time. The fat lady is about to sing.”
         The thought of doing such a thing was repelling, but I had to know. “How do you want me to, as you put it, off you?”
         I was taken aback by Tommy's bland, if not nonchalant, reply “Nothing fancy; a hatchet whack through my neck will be fine.”
         I stood stupefied unable to speak, but Tommy had more to say: “Tomorrow, Zak, as you guys hold hands and give thanks to our Lord for the bounty before you, please know, as my roasted butt rests on Sarah’s grandmother’s beautiful Delft Blue serving platter, that being a part of you, in you, will be truly an honor.”
         I felt it was time to put forth some resistance to what I was hearing. I told Tommy there was no way I could do what he wanted without Sarah and the kid’s knowledge and approval. “After all, Tommy it would be most inconsiderate not to include everyone who loves you in on the decision to end your life.”
         I asked Sarah and the kids to join Tommy and me at the dinner table. There, Tommy explained to them the reasoning behind his request. There were many tears, kisses, and hugs, but in the end, the selfish want associated with giving up something that was not ours to keep was outweighed. We would honor Tommy's request.
         Sarah and the kids stayed in the house as Tommy and I slowly walked outside. Upon the stump of a sawed-off eucalyptus tree where many a fowl had gone before, Tommy positioned his head. He looked up to where I stood and calmly said, “Thank you, Zak. I love you.” Tears blurred my vision as I swiftly swing the razor-sharp hatchet. I loudly cried my best friend’s name as his head fell to the ground.
          With gentle care, I lifted Tommy from where he lay and carried him passed the horseshoe pitch to the barn. There, by filtered sunlight I began the most emotional task of plucking from dear Tommy his beautiful bronze-green iridescent feathers. What I did next I had done a gross of times, but never to a family member: I dressed Tommy, scooping out his entrails and collecting his gizzard, heart, and lungs. Putting them aside, I flushed Tommy with a garden hose and blotted him dry with an empty feed bag.
         I wrapped Tommy in the feed bag and I brought him and his giblets into the house where heartache and not a dry eye dwelled. After a solemn moment of commiseration, I retreated outdoors to gather Tommy’s head, feathers, and entrails. I dug a hole at the horseshoe pitch where Tommy and I spent many a morning and buried them. Weeping, I stood in silence over the site.
         The following day, Tommy’s wishes were kept. Unfortunately, Tommy's wish for us to enjoy dining on him did not pass. His meat was as tough as his spirit and we found our dearest friend’s offering impossible to partake.
         Today, a part of Tommy is with Sarah, me, our children, their spouses, and our five grandchildren. Tommy’s wishbone is displayed under a crystal dome and is the centerpiece on our table at every Thanksgiving Day dinner.

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