And the Peacocks Name Is....

Pete!

How do I know this?

Well, once again I have gotten ahead of myself in telling the story.

So "lets start at the very beginning, a very good place to start!"
(anyone know where that very famous quote is from?)

We left our peacock saga with many cliff hangers:


1)ll the peacock ever leave the roof?

2)Will "Roo" ever recover from his fall from glory?

3)Will the peacock ever be claimed by its rightful owner?

4)Will Dixie Dawg ever make it out of the laundry room?


The answers:

1)Yes! The peacock left the roof and nested for the night in a nearby tree.

2)Roo is ego maniacal and has short term memory loss. He is fine.

3)See below *

4) You will be relieved to know that Dixie Dawg had resigned herself to her laundry room sentence, had made the best of it and was found reclining on a laundry pile of dirty jeans with all the airs of a diva at a spa. She was almost reluctant to be "sprung from laundry room jail" and laid there yawning for a few minutes before she nonchalantly resumed her post as chief enforcer of the premises.

So as to question #3...

*Once I had the immediate threat named Dixie Dawg contained in the laundry room, I drove a little distance down an adjoining dusty road that turns on to yet another dusty road. I was working off an old memory of driving down this road once and seeing a guinea hen on the side of the road. I thought that guineas sounded like a good place to start in my search for the origin of the peacock. I turned into a long lane of cedars to an opening with a home, a camper, a truck and two people standing beside a car in the driveway.

I said hello and asked if anyone here was missing a peacock. A question that I figured would either make me look certifiable OR helpful depending on whether I had found the right place or not.

Fortunately the relieved and happy look on the mans face was encouraging.

Here is our conversation as best I can recall it...

Me - Hi I found a peacock down on my farm over that way (pointing) I wonder if you know anything about it?

He - Pete! She found Pete! (looking rapturously at his friend)

Me - So his name is Pete huh? Ok. He is safe for now but he is very far from home and I have a LOT of dogs and I don't think he is safe at my place.

He - So where is your place?

Me- Giving descriptions and getting a blank look I realized I needed to resort to the time honored way of giving directions this far out in the country. I live down the Webster family road (what the road was called before it got a real name back in the 60s) I'm just after you pass the Campbell's place? (mentioning the founding farmers of our area)

He- (brightening and getting much friendlier) oh yeah, Pete Campbell married my cousin Mary.

Me- I know Mary, (feeling like I just discovered the open sesame code word) she gets cow manure from me.

With that little bit of rural southern "who's your daddy" etiquette behind us, he seemed to relax and so I mentioned "Pete" again...

So..."Pete" is up in a tree and like I said I have dogs that are not going to understand why he has showed up? (asked as a question)

He - (reaching casually over to the top of a rusty unused grill to retrieve his can of beer) This hear is my cousin Cyndi he said (pausing to take a swallow from the can while Cyndi nodded.) She checks in on me. I'm a widower.

Me - Oh I'm sorry (no earthly idea what one is supposed to say other than that at this point)

Cyndi checked her watch and declared that she had to be off to work. Night shift at the post office.

I drug the conversation, such as it was, back to "Pete".

Me- So what do you want to do about Pete? I'm really worried about him getting home safely.

He- You are a nice lady. ( while popping the top on a fresh beer) He then suggested maybe I could catch "Pete" and bring him home?

Me- Oh nooo.....I can barely catch my chickens. I am too afraid. Can you come get him?

He - No. I am too drunk tonight to do that. I'm getting ready to go to bed in a few minutes.

Me (wringing my hands mentally) but what about Pete? If he comes down out of that tree the dogs will get him!

He- Oh well. If they do they do.

Me- You wont feel that way tomorrow

He - Hes not hard to catch. Once you put the net over him his very easy to pick up, He's mostly feathers.

Me- The net? Well you see I don't have a "net".

He- (with a look of sodden incredulity) you don't have a fishin net?

Me - (feeling as though I am being outed for the yuppie that i am having only worked the land here for 20 years which makes me practically a newcomer) I um.. I don't fish I said lamely. Effectively canceling out all the good will I had engendered by living near the Campbell's. There was a bleary side glance to his cousin as this information was slowly processed by him and Milwaukee Light.

Feeling very benevolent he said "Well here, you can borrow my net" and with that he walked with the slow purposeful movement to a shed and took a net off of a hook. He walked toward my car for all intents and purposes seeming ready to shove a huge fishing net attached to a ten foot long aluminum pole into my open drivers door.

Cyndi and I intervened and I left holding the net by the pole outside my care while I drove 2 miles down long sandy roads back to my house looking like almost as big of an idiot as I felt.

When I got home, "Pete" had settled in the top of an oak and tucked his head under his wing and was done with us for the day.

With no peacock scent on the ground, Dixie was off to her own pursuits. I hung the net with its super long pole in a tree near "Pete's" night accommodation and called it a day.

The following morning "Pete" was no where to be found. There where nor tail feathers leaving a trail of carnage and the dogs acted as bored as usual.

Later that day I drove down the lane and returned the fishing net.

Pete was marching the yard of his owner doing quarter turns with his hens watching admiringly.

All's well that ends well.