For the love of turkey

Turkey happened to be Rhyme's favorite meal of all time. With spring now upon them he found himself feeling excitement for Turkey chicks. They were not as large a meal, but they were savory little feather bags. It was later in the evening going into sunset and had found a flock in the thicket.  He had just been taking a quick rest when he heard them rustling about in the underbrush.

Rhyme repositioned himself quietly, rolling his feet underneath him slowly. His bright blue and purple gaze didn't leave the three turkeys and their five chicks. He kneaded his paws beneath him in anticipation, and his tail twitched lightly behind him. How was the best way to go about this little hunt?