Yesterday, on an overcast morning, as I went out to feed the chickens, I saw there
on the chicken yard fence a creature disguised as a weathervane.
Soon the sun came out and
I got a good look at his glorious color. And I was honored to feed him.
This peacock roams the
neighborhood, and I hadn’t seen him for a couple of months. I was worried.
Seeing him, though, tail intact and all beautiful, I wonder if perhaps he, like
my hen, was molting. She looked as
though she had been attacked by a mountain lion. Maybe neither he nor she wanted
to be seen in that condition.
Now both are beautiful--new
feathers, happy countenance.
Lookin' good
You probably read my
peacock story, about the first day I saw him here at the empty house before we
moved in last December. He was sitting on the fence outside a bedroom window
I had brought boxes of
dishes from the other house. I was washing cupboards, putting dishes away,
putting up knickknacks, and of course, I had to look in every room. There in the bedroom, out the
window, what did I see on the fence, but a peacock!
I was beside myself, calling
our dog: “Sweetpea, come look!” She came, she looked but thought I had gone
bonkers. (Yeah, I knew what she was
thinking.) “But, Sweetpea, this is my totem animal.”
Can you imagine, this
is the third peacock I have seen associated with a new home. One in Riverside
California, One in Marcola, Oregon, and here in the sleepy little town of
Junction City.
I would never have thought it.
I would never have thought it.
Blonde has
recovered from her molting where she lost her tail and three-quarters of her feathers
but look at her now—Isn’t she beautiful?
The three baby chicks I
acquired last October are grown up birds now.
I’m afraid I goofed on
these chicks for they are skittish and not tame as my other two hens were. Harriot
and Blonde would come and sit on my lap. Especially, Harriot, the hen who laid
the green egg, but alas, she disappeared one night without a trace.
It could be that I
didn’t hold these three baby chicks as much as I did the others. Another
possibility is that these three chickens were about a week old when I got them,
and they had already imprinted on each other, or learned about life— that one
ought to run in the face of danger—real or imagined.
When we lived in Temecula,
California, I volunteered to feed our landlord’s chickens and turkeys, for a reduced rental fee of course. The turkeys knew me and whenever I called out, 'Hello guys," they answered with a chorus of "Gobble, gobble gobble." He also had a dozen
or so quail that were so tame they poured as a unit out the door when I opened
it. I had to push them inside to get into their pen. Later on he got another
group of quail that were so wild they fluttered and squawked and ran from me whenever
I approached their pen. He had enclosed them in a little pen with a door on the
top. One day I opened the door and one quail high-tailed it out of there, never
to be seen again.
You are the first
person I have told. Confession time.
“Sharing enhances
everything you experience,” –
-Tony Robbins.
Yes, Tony, but do
people want to hear it? It is rather
one-sided, isn’t it? But words need eyes, and that’s where you come in. I
suppose every writer wonders if their words are worth reading. Are they engaging,
enlightening, educational, or entertaining?
There’s the rub.
I wonder many times
what I am doing here. And then Maria Forleo comes along and says, “Give your
gift.”
Yes, but, what’s under that
wrapper? I’m afraid to look.
Suggestion Box, click
on the box and let me know what you would like to hear/read.
