My grandfather loved to come out from his home in downtown Detroit and work the land. Once I watched him take an axe to a chicken. I probably shouldn’t have, but this was the 70s, and parental control on our “farm” was a bit lax. You know that phrase, “Running around like a chicken with its head cut off”? It’s quite appropriate. I had nightmares for months.
One time, a guinea hen was busy hatching some eggs. She had a nest under a tree out past the duck pond. She was as vigilant as a guard at Gitmo and wouldn’t let a soul within 30 feet of her nest. When I decided to get a closer look and she came charging after me like the Tasmanian Devil, squawking and flapping her wings until I was safely back in the house. These are some wonderful memories, but they did nothing to prepare me for the day I went face to face with a Palos Verdes peacock.
Palos Verdes is an affluent community in the Southbay area of Los Angeles. Along with Donald Trump’s resorts there are cliff-side mansions and country style homes shrouded in eucalyptus trees and surrounded by equestrian trails. In PV, peacocks are allowed to roam free. And in some neighborhoods it is quite normal to hear their annoyingly eerie honk or see them crossing the street.
During college, some friends of mine used to let me house-sit when they went out of town. So, one hot July morning I noticed a family of peacocks in their backyard. There was a mom, a dad, and several babies. A little later I saw what I figured to be the same birds in the front yard. I then left to run an errand and when I returned I parked in the driveway with the intention of washing my car. Their garage sits on west side of their ranch-style house with the majority of the living space extending out to the east. As I pulled up I saw the father peacock and the babies scurry across the driveway, away from the house. I didn’t see the mother, but I figured she was in the lead.
My friends did not live extravagantly, but one thing I could never understand is why they couldn’t afford a screen door. Anyway, I went into the house, and which may have not been my best idea, left the front door open as I returned outside to wash my car.
Making my way back into the house after the car was washed, I discovered Mrs. Peacock waiting for me in the foyer. At first, we stood there, still as statues, facing each other like old west gunslingers. I made the first move and took a step toward her. She went backward. Behind her was the living room; a formal living room, with many breakable items. Directly behind her was a sliding screen door to a deck. She wasn’t going to let me get behind her to shoo her out the front door, but I thought that maybe if I got to the screen door, she could exit the house by way of the deck. Another bad idea.
I stepped, and she stepped, as if we were doing the tango. I dashed toward the screen and she freaked out. She took off flying around the living room like a balloon losing helium. I flew open the screen door and frantically ran around trying to save every fragile vase, picture frame, and lamp that I could. Meanwhile, Mrs. Peacock was crashing into the indoor shutters and banging her head on the ceiling.
I knew that I had to leave the room in order for her to calm down. I went into the kitchen which is immediately to the right of the front door. I prayed that she would approach the front door so I could push her out to freedom. But no, she went deeper into the house, back toward the master bedroom, from which there isn’t a door to the outside. She was at the end of a long hallway. I grabbed some bread and began tossing pieces to her, hoping to coax her back to the great outdoors. I guess peacocks don’t like bread. But she did leave a deposit on the white rug.
I decided to go out to the back deck, wishing I had a book about bird calls. As I waited, she made her way to the foyer, presumably worried about her husband and babies. She looked back at me and then calmly strolled out the front door.
It took me a long time to clean up the poop and feathers and put all the breakables back into position. I’ll never forget how that peacock looked at me. When she did, I could only offer a shrug in return. Her expression was worth a 1,000 words. It said that if she could, she’d flip me the bird.
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