Peacock on the Chimney, Eggs in the Carport

Such is my life.

Let me state for the record that the peacock is not ours. Or, apparently, our neighbors'. We have no idea where this bird came from. Last Monday evening, I was helping my husband change the oil in his truck (It's a whole new world under there!). When l came back up to pour oil topside, I glanced over to the backyard and had to register a double-take. "There...is a...PEAcock in our backyard!" Given that I had never seen one outside a zoo before, and given that they aren't exactly native to Oklahoma, this was a bit of a shock, to be sure. He had a beautiful tail which trailed behind him as he moved from place to place. I was rather surprised to find that he could even fly a little with that long thing weighing him down! Anyway, we assumed it was a neighbor's bird who just got a little confused. We enjoyed watching it while it strutted around the yard, and thought it would return to its home before sunset.

It had other ideas. It roosted in the large sycamore in our front yard the first night and on our roof the second night. Peacocks are loud. Very loud. Late at night, too. Their call sounds something like a musical crow caw followed by a monkey call. They also make this weird high-pitched imitation of a semi horn on occasion. The next night, he sauntered over to the neighbor's field, but apparently decided that he preferred our lifestyle and has slept on our chimney ever since. The good news about this situation is that we now have a guard peacock. Every time we return home, he calls out. Whenever we move around the yard, he calls out. Whenever a possum sneezes, the bird calls out. Who needs a dog?

The funny thing is that he has decided he needs a mate. Well, you know how peacocks try to attract a female, right? First, he noticed that we have other large birds on the property; next thing we knew his long tail feathers were up from the ground making an eight foot wide semicircle, and he was shaking his wingfeathers like crazy. The hens were singularly unimpressed. For that matter, so were the teenage roosters--particularly the rooster to whom Mr. Peacock was really turning up the charm. I tried to tell him that this relationship wouldn't work, but in this case the term "birdbrain" comes to mind.

So Mr. Peacock appears to have adopted us for the long term. Name ideas? Montmorency? Throckmorton? Thurston Howell IV?

My chickens have enough issues without having to deal with a peacock displaying to them. My husband spent an evening several months ago building the laying hens a nesting box for their laying pleasure. Well, my girls used it for several weeks, but then the Americaunas started laying and things began to get a little crowded. I left a cardboard box to "air out" in the carport one day after its use as an indoor duckling habitat had come to an end, and a couple of hens started appropriating it as their personal spot. They were apparently the cool hens, because it took less than a week for the rest of the flock to follow. For the last several months, the nicely-constructed nest box has had little to no usage, while an old box in the carport is THE place to be. Figures.

Life on the farm. It doesn't always make sense, but at least it is never boring.