The fate of a wild turkey with a bum leg and a penchant for standing in traffic is easy to guess.

So it did not come as a shock when residents near the Elm Spring and Scrubgrass Road intersection of Mt. Lebanon learned Friday that Scrubby, the caring wild turkey who often made its home near -- and in -- the road, was the victim of a deadly game of turkey plays chicken.

"It was not surprising, but is sad," said Judy Campbell, a crossing guard for the school district and one of the last who saw Scrubby alive.

Ms. Campbell started her shift shepherding Jefferson Middle and Elementary school students across the street on Friday morning at 7:30 a.m. Scrubby was there, balancing on its good right leg and waiting for the handful of bird feed Ms. Campbell would give it.

On most days, she -- Ms. Campbell guesses Scrubby was female due to the bird's dark coloring -- would wander in the street, causing cars to screech to a halt, and Ms. Campbell would have to clang her metal stop sign to move the wayward turkey off to the side.

Ms. Campbell called it her "Turkey Patrol."

Scrubby was being cocky, as usual, about the right to the road last Friday.

"She was particularly naughty that day," Ms. Campbell said. "I don't know if she was tired with the snow or what. I chased her four times off the road."

At one point, Scrubby wandered down Scrubgrass, away from the intersection, and a school bus driver had to hop out to chase the turkey out of the road.

That was the last Ms. Campbell saw of Scrubby. When she returned to work that day at 2:30 p.m., Scrubby was nowhere to be seen, and a parent informed her that the turkey had been struck by a car and died.

Animal control officer Tony Capozzoli of the South Hills Cooperative Animal Control got the call Friday morning that Scrubby -- whose intrusions into traffic had prompted regular calls over the past few months -- had been struck by a car.

The office gets calls about wild turkeys hit by cars about once a month, he said.

Ms. Campbell placed flowers and a sign at the intersection that says "We miss you, Scrubby.''

The impromptu memorial provides no date of birth and offers no clues as to Scrubby's life before the intersection days. But in the summer, the neighborhood noticed eight little turkeys trailing two big ones, said Terri Lucas, who lives on Scrubgrass Road. She assumes one of the little turkeys was young Scrubby, and in the fall, when the other turkeys walked away, they left Scrubby, with an injured left leg, to patrol the intersection.

"He was there every day, down on the corner, one side or the other, he was there," Ms. Lucas said. "Every morning, until whenever turkeys go to bed."

In October, Ms. Campbell encouraged students crossing the street to think of a name for the turkey. They came up with Scrubby, a nod to her decision to settle down off Scrubgrass Road.

Scrubby escaped attempts at capture and thrived as neighbors brought her food.

"By the end, people were bringing food so she was gaining weight at a pretty rapid pace," said Maureen Mashek, who lives near Scrubby's intersection. "She looked like she would be a good meal, so we joked that someone was going to get mad and take [Scrubby]. But she made it through Thanksgiving."

Ms. Campbell said she thought there would be another turkey or turkeys at the site. "It seems that there's always been groups of turkeys [there]."

But, she emphasized, there won't be another Scrubby.

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