Podbit · Armchair Expert with Dax Shepard
Having hunted turkeys before, Christy knew a gunshot would scatter them. So mid-attack, she made gun sounds at them. The problem: 'pew pew' bears no resemblance to a shotgun blast. The turkeys were not impressed.
Where this was said
At 46:50 · chapter starts 35:00
After a lively digression about Wisconsin's status as the reddest state on a drinking-rates map, Christy tells the story of her brand-new bike, a baseball game that ended at dusk, and a downhill trail with woods on one side and a narrow road on the other. She spotted two large fuzzy shapes and immediately wanted to pet them — they were turkeys, and she had no idea they might not be friendly. They pecked at her instantly with long, sharp beaks; one had an unusual curved downward peck that broke skin and scraped along her legs [1] — Christy "Christy slowed down to pet what she thought were big fluffy balls at dusk. They were turkeys. What followed was a relentless two-bird assau…" 40:20 . She tossed the bike aside, punched at the birds' breasts, kicked, and eventually made gun sounds with her mouth — 'pew pew' — recalling from past turkey hunting that gunshots scatter them. The turkeys had a chase instinct that made riding away worse. Her husband Kyle, reached by phone amid a background chorus of gobbling, was audibly annoyed by the call before realizing his wife was genuinely under attack. He eventually arrived on the nearby bridge with their kids, both holding baseball bats [2] — Christy "Having hunted turkeys before, Christy knew a gunshot would scatter them. So mid-attack, she made gun sounds at them. The problem: 'pew pew'…" 46:50 . A station wagon had passed three times before its occupants started filming. Christy later researched turkey behavior and learned she had inadvertently triggered every threat response at once: dusk roosting territory, eye contact, and flight. The scratches were significant enough to be local news material — and she's a nurse who had recently published a book about ER medicine.
Christy confirmed Wisconsin ranks number one in US drinking rates, shown on an Instagram map where the state appeared as a solid smear of red.
Christy slowed down to pet what she thought were big fluffy balls at dusk. They were turkeys. What followed was a relentless two-bird assault — pecking, taloning, scraping skin — that she fought with punches to the breast, kicks, and eventually gun sounds from her mouth.
Christy learned after her attack that turkeys are especially aggressive at dusk when they are preparing to roost, and making eye contact or running triggers a hardwired chase instinct.
Turkeys surveying territory at dusk treat eye contact as a direct threat and have a hardwired chase instinct — riding away only makes things worse. Christy hit every single trigger simultaneously without knowing any of them.
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Her supervisor told her she was too emotional for the pediatric ICU. So she asked herself: 'What area of medicine can I cry in?' That question led her to psychiatry. Finding the environment that holds your emotional sensitivity isn't retreat — it's strategy.
For someone with RSD, ghosting isn't ambiguity — it's a self-verdict. Their brain doesn't read 'this relationship ended,' it reads 'I am the reason this failed.' No closure means the brain fills the gap with evidence of personal insufficiency, and it keeps filling indefinitely.
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