A peacock and his two hens prance majestically around our dilapidated old farm house. Well, it's not extremely dilapidated but it's over 100yrs old. The floors are crooked. Too much wind still makes it's way in through the wall plugs, and it needs lots of updates that never did get done. The peacocks seem out of place here. They have that attitude about them, you know, that peacock attitude that says they belong at a palace or a lavish estate.
That attitude that says " I was acquired to amuse the barons grand daughter."
They appear bored with the terrain here. No shimmering ponds or crystal lake in which to admire themselves. No perfectly manicured lawns or gardens in which to preen themselves. Instead they occupy themselves by lining up on the patio railing and staring intently in our bathroom window. This never fails to produce screams both from myself and the peacocks when I step out of the shower, and they strain their necks forward to tap on the window. This is my own fault as I've thrown peanuts on the patio several times to treat them and they've simply come to wait with anticipation. No thought of voyeurism at all in their nugget size brains.
If you look closely at the photo above you will see the one grievance I have with these beautiful birds, their droppings. We're not talking about raisins here. We're talking about a pile that would put your uncle Ernie to shame. And they will perch on vehicles. I've noticed they are partial to blue metallic Toyotas with shiny chrome bumpers in which they stare at themselves for hours.
When people complain about a little bird doo doo on their windshield I always show them them this picture.
The peacock and his hens are now roosting in our barn most days to avoid the chilly weather. I anxiously await warmer days when I will sit on our faded lopsided deck and sip some cheap wine. The birds will float past me in their dignified brilliance. I am after all the lady of the manor. I may even put a curtain on that damn bathroom window.