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Efectivamente llegó el día 23 de diciembre y mi tía dijo algo que retumbó en mi cabeza como un eco…voy a matar al pavo hoy….Dios!!! A mi amigo Roger…! No!, era imposible que lo permitiera, me senté a su lado en el piso a llorar, lo abrazaba y dije que nadie iba a hacerle daño, me había encariñado con este animalito. Mi tía notablemente disgustada, me pedía que me levantara y la dejara, ella tenía un vaso de ron en la mano, para darle a Roger, según y que para ablandarlo, una técnica culinaria muy particular. Continué llorando e impidiendo la atrocidad. Mi abuelo que siempre fue mi salvador, dijo: no lo maten vamos a llevarlo para la granja de Marcial (un primo suyo) y yo compro uno congelado en el supermercado, a lo cual la tía no quería acceder aduciendo que no sería el mismo sabor. Una vez superado el impasse y luego de varias horas de discusión montamos la que sería la cena en el carro vivo y nos fuimos a la granja, allí le soltamos, había otros como él en el lugar.
Creo que lo que para mí fue una buena acción con el pavo causaba disgusto familiar al tener que cocinar uno de congelador, no obstante siempre he creído que las buenas acciones ya sea para animales o personas se retribuyen de alguna otra manera, ese diciembre mi mamá se sacó una rifa de un pernil…así que salvar a Roger fue de buena suerte, pudimos cenar Revuelto de Pavo y Pernil asado creo que un verdadero lujo. Lo ocurrido primero fue anecdótico. Luego una broma familiar ya que al año siguiente volvieron a comprar de supermercado y mis primos solían preguntarse ¿será este Roger?...nunca lo sabremos. El cuento que no dejé matarlo fue recordado por siempre y en cada cena decembrina mientras la familia se reunió. Años después me hice miembro de la Asociación Protectora de animales, obviamente no era para defender pavos si no en contra de las corridas de toros y el maltrato a animales como perros y gatos…siempre prefiero pensar que fueron esos ojos de Roger los que crearon en mi esa empatía por los animales... como regalo de navidad y por prolongar su vida.
My family, despite their humble circumstances, used to prepare a turkey called "revuelto" for Christmas dinner. Actually, before what I'm about to tell you, I'd never paid much attention to the turkey. The little animal was bought live a few days before December 24th and spent some time with us, finishing its fattening period. Then, of course, it was our Christmas and New Year's Eve dinner. Many years passed from my childhood until I was about 19 years old. The bird was bought a month before Christmas Eve, and that's where the mistake began. I was put in charge of feeding it after lunch and dinner. I privately gave it a name (between the two of us): Roger (after Roger Moore), an actor who starred in a TV series at the time. After serving it, I would stay and talk to it. It would just stare at me, and I would talk to it about anything, without realizing that I was somehow becoming an accomplice to its "murder."
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Sure enough, December 23rd arrived, and my aunt said something that echoed in my head… “I’m going to kill the turkey today…” God! My friend Roger…! No! It was impossible for me to allow it. I sat down next to him on the floor and cried, hugging him and saying that no one was going to hurt him; I had grown fond of this little animal. My aunt, visibly upset, asked me to get up and leave her alone. She had a glass of rum in her hand to give to Roger, supposedly to tenderize him, a very particular culinary technique. I continued crying and trying to stop the atrocity. My grandfather, who was always my savior, said: “Don’t kill him. Let’s take him to Marcial’s farm (a cousin of his), and I’ll buy a frozen one at the supermarket.” My aunt refused, arguing that it wouldn’t taste the same. Once the impasse was overcome and after several hours of discussion we loaded what would be dinner onto the live cart and went to the farm, there we released him, there were others like him in the place.
I think what I considered a good deed with the turkey caused some family displeasure when we had to cook one from the freezer. However, I've always believed that good deeds, whether for animals or people, are reciprocated in some other way. That December, my mom won a roasted ham in a raffle… so saving Roger was a stroke of good luck. We were able to have turkey scramble and roasted ham for dinner, which I think was a real treat. What happened at first became just an anecdote. Then it became a family joke, since the following year they bought another one from the supermarket, and my cousins would often wonder, "Is this Roger?"... we'll never know. The story about how I didn't let him get killed was remembered forever and is told at every Christmas dinner when the family gets together. Years later I became a member of the Animal Protection Association, obviously not to defend turkeys but against bullfighting and the mistreatment of animals like dogs and cats… I always prefer to think that it was Roger's eyes that created in me that empathy for animals… as a Christmas present and for prolonging his life.