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There are only two species of turkey in the world, and we’re all��familiar with one: the Wild Turkey. A magnificent bird first domesticated by the Aztecs and later again by Native Americans, its farm-bred form will fill our��Thanksgiving plates��this November, while wild flocks continue their decades-long recovery from overhunting and habitat loss across the eastern United States.

Let’s first take a minute to appreciate the Wild Turkey’s comeback, or perhaps even savor its sweet revenge as the birds apparently terrorize growing swaths of suburbia.��

Now, let’s move on, because I really want to talk about��the other turkey species: the Ocellated Turkey. It’s understandable if you’re not familiar with this trippy, technicolor Wild Turkey relative. It only lives in a small part of Mexico, Belize, and Guatemala. I also hadn't heard of it when I started my new job at ̽����ѡ magazine around Thanksgiving a year ago.��

That's when I stumbled upon the Ocellated Turkey’s existence while on social media.��I was in awe. With its eyed feathers, it��looked more like a peacock than any turkey I'd ever seen.��Its��plumage evoked the beauty of an oily puddle’s iridescent sheen, and its pretty aqua blue head, dotted with bright orangey warts, gives the species a fun “I woke up like this” vibe.��I had thought turkeys were just turkeys, but this turkey was something else.��

This was a feeling about birds��I've��since had many times��in the past��year working at ̽����ѡ. Previously, I’d been casually familiar with a number of common species where I live, but had no��grasp��of the amazing��diversity of the avian world. Now��that I’ve��started to learn more about birds near and far—say, the unusual breeding habits of the Phainopepla (a.k.a. “the Goth Cardinal”), the record-breaking fire alarm call of the White Bellbird, and the��Northern Mockingbirds' ability to mimic other birds, human machinery, and even toads—I can��start to wrap my mind around the Ocellated Turkey in the context of globally, and nearly 1,000 in North America alone.��

My greater awareness of the breadth and beauty of birds also translates to a better appreciation of��the scale of their losses. One recent, startling report we��covered estimates that we’ve lost about 3 billion North American birds in the last 50 years—that’s more than 1 in 4 bird, gone. Then, in October, we devoted our fall issue of ̽����ѡ to look��at the future: without action, climate change makes 389 bird species, of 604 species studied, vulnerable to extinction, according to ̽����ѡ science. Mostly because I am now paying attention, in the last year, I’ve seen my first Sandhill Crane, Piping Plover, Baltimore Oriole, and Scarlet Tanager. Now they're no longer faceless climate-threatened birds. They’re real.��

For the Ocellated Turkey, as was once true for the��Wild Turkey, overhunting is a major threat . But in the Central American region where it lives, much hunting is for food and survival, not sport, and so the solutions are far from��simple. Eco-tourists and birders—some coming to spot��the Ocellated Turkey and other varied species—who value conservation and bring dollars with them��are at least a��part of the answer.

I don't know whether I’ll ever make it to the �۳ܳ�����á����to see this turkey��in person.��But just knowing that it��exists out there in the world is at least something to ponder this Thanksgiving. Like its better known Wild Turkey relative, the bird��could use a success story, and now I know it's only one of many.����