This feat is especially remarkable, though, considering most turkeys aren’t even given a second chance. If they’re not among the 240 million raised for food each year, they’re culled when rendered unfit for production. But thanks to her rescuers—and now, in her new life at Farm Sanctuary—Avril can show she’s so much more than just a drumstick.

Avril’s first guardian brought her home as an impulse buy from a local feed store. These stores don’t only sell food for farm animals—they often also sell baby birds, like turkeys, chickens, and ducks, to small farms and hobby farmers. Some people keep these birds as companions; others raise them for eggs or meat, as a “humane” alternative to factory farming.

Unfortunately, birds like Avril experience worse treatment than most people realize. They come from the same industrial hatcheries as turkeys sent to factory farms. This means they never meet their mothers; instead, they’re packed and shipped through the mail within hours of hatching. It can take days to reach their destinations—whether factory farm, feed store, or private home. And due to shipping and other processing delays, many starve or get crushed to death by others crammed into the box for packaging.

Turkeys can live up to eight years or more; on factory farms, they’re killed at just four to five months. This year, it’s happening even sooner: To curtail the spread of COVID-19, the CDC is recommending smaller holiday gatherings—which has increased demand for smaller turkeys. Since the industry raises these babies to grow as large and as fast as possible, the only way to meet consumer demand is to “process” these birds even younger.

While pure chance brought Avril to the feed store rather than a factory farm, she might have still been raised for slaughter had another person claimed her first. And even if she lived on a so-called “humane” farm—one providing more space and individualized care than birds on factory farms receive—there is still nothing humane about killing anyone, no matter how well they may have lived.

While Avril’s guardian was not vegetarian, he deemed his new friend “too cute to eat” and took her home as a companion. Many people make similar realizations when getting to know turkeys. Through these interactions, they learn that turkeys will purr when pet, like cats; others will come when called, like dogs. They have unique personalities and emotions, ranging from curiosity (some will peck at novel objects, like a shiny watch or ring) to sadness at the loss of a flock member. Through Sanctuary, we can help people see that other turkeys are as worthy of our love and protection as the ones that we befriend.

This connection saved Avril a second time, when the Bobcat Fire—among the largest on record in Los Angeles County—demolished her new home. Typically, when disaster strikes, farm animals rarely get the help they need; farmers will leave or cull the ones they know they’ll lose. With his home now gone, the guardian could easily have left Avril to fend for herself. Instead, he asked his neighbor to take on her care.

The neighbor is a vegetarian, so he could trust that he’d care for—and not eat—Avril. Sadly, this man had lost all but two of his pet chickens in the blaze. But his home still stood, and he had the provisions to offer Avril the haven that she needed.

Shortly after, however, the new guardian noticed something wrong. Avril’s leg was splayed—stretching past 90° to one side, which prevented her from standing and walking properly. Though he tried to help, he soon realized Avril’s needs went beyond his expertise.

To give Avril the best chance of survival, he contacted Farm Sanctuary. We welcomed tiny Avril to our Acton location, and brought her to a specialist for further diagnostics.

Radiographs showed a bowing in the bone. Our avian vet would need to break and reset Avril’s leg to correct the issue. If all went according to plan, she could regain up to 80-90% use of her leg once healed.

The surgery went well. Her recovery brought new challenges, though. At first, we had to keep her leg mostly immobile so the bone could heal. To do so, the vet placed a metal rod along each side, connecting them with four pins inserted through the muscle. We cleaned and rewrapped the site each day, and propped her up with extra towels and blankets to keep her leg straight and the supports in place.

We also added physical therapy to her treatment regimen—first slowly and gently extending the leg, and then balancing Avril in a sling to help her regain some range of motion.

Three weeks post-op, the vets removed the metal rods and pins. Instead of seeing increased strength, however, Avril’s legs continue to splay, and her body is resisting additional therapy.

We are doing everything we can to give Avril the best shot possible. But there is also a chance that it might not work, and we are closely assessing her quality of life. No matter how much time Avril has, we’re committed to giving her our all and are grateful that she has this chance. Every turkey on this planet is entitled to the same. They have family and friends, favorite foods and hobbies, and a strong will to live without fear of harm. And, like Avril, they each have special qualities that would make them “uneatable” if only people took the time to look.

We can all save lives, one individual at a time, by keeping turkeys like Avril off our plates.