|Thanks to reader Katymine for the shot.|
As regular readers know, we have peacocks. We raised one of them from a chick, which was quite an experience. Blue, the older male; Missy, the peahen; and Jack the young male, and his albino sister who made it to four months then died. The adventures with our birds were ever evolving. From Thanksgivings, putting Jack in a pen to save his life (Blue tried to kill him several times), to deciding what do you give a peacock for Christmas? Easy. Read the post, you’ll see. Then this spring came the fighting, which at mating season was something to watch.
It makes me a bit wistful to see the shot above today.
Our birds are gone.
Luckily we found a good home for Missy and Jack. We also got to see Jack’s first year with full plume, as well as watch him drop it. Peacocks lose their beautiful train every single season, though the young males do it earlier than the old beauties. Blue remains with his original “owner.” I put that in quotes because you never really own a bird, especially peacocks, and I should know.
It was tough corraling Jack. My husband is a champ. Missy was easier, but it was heart stopping for a while. But they’re happy and free and we’re thrilled.
But there isn’t a day when I meditate that I don’t miss seeing them in my view, or a night at sunset that I don’t think about them; remembering all the nights we watched them fly into the big pines. Teaching Jack to fly into the back pines and not the front. Then there is the other thing: the silence. We no longer
hear the kawwing.
But at least I know they’re free and safe. That’s all that really matters to birds.