Peacocks: Don't Let Their Beauty Fool You

Do you like peacocks? I used to like peacocks just fine. I remember seeing them at the Oregon Zoo for the first time when I was about five years old. I don't remember if they were in an actual cage or if I just happened to notice them strolling by on the sidewalk, but I was absolutely enthralled with their beauty! I remember staring at these amazing birds for as long as I could before my parents got bored and had to drag me to the next exhibit. It's true, even to this day, I will admit that when the males open up their butt feathers, it's hard to let your eyes escape it's beauty. But, let's remember that they just do it to show off (typical male).

The "real" peacock, the one that takes pride in being the most annoying bird on record, has shown up at my doorstep and will not leave. He's been here now, for going on two hours. It's behavior has forced me to classify it into the "freaky bird" category. Other birds fit into this category for various reasons. Chicken is freaky because it looks disgusting when it's raw and even more disgusting after you have vomited it up because it was cooked a few degrees under the "ready-to-eat" temperature (which varies and no one can seem to get right). It also seems pretty gross when it's hanging from the ceiling of a tent in an open-market surrounded by flies and smelling of decaying flesh. Needless to say, I don't eat chicken for this reason. Turkey neither. Don't get me wrong, because I don't want to "save the birds" or do something nice and humane like that. I just think they are, simply put, revolting, dirty animals. I'm laughing now, because I realize that I won't eat their body, but I will eat what comes out of their arses (that's English for ass)... eggs. They are essentially, unborn chickens, aren't they. But they taste good. And come in a protective coating so that we don't have to witness what we're eating until right before we cook it, and then it magically cooks completely 3 minutes later, will no ill effects afterward (at least in my case).

Snow owls are creepy too. I don't have alot of firsthand experience with these birds, but ever sense I saw the movie, The Fourth Kind, I have had some pretty creepy nightmares involving snow owls. If you haven't seen the movie, you should. I don't know how much of it is actually true, but the movie clearly proves my case in point that birds are not to be trusted. The snow owls in The Fourth Kind provide a direct link between humans and aliens. I inferred that the birds were actually posing as spies for the aliens. And the aliens were somehow controlling the fowls' minds and using the mental pictures supplied by the birds for their own, sick reasons. Another movie that comes to mind is Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. Need I say more?

Not convinced? The dictionary.com definition of the word fowl is "any birds that are barnyard, domesticated, or wild, such as the duck, turkey, or pheasant." But it can easily be confused with the word foul, an adjective meaning "grossly offensive to the senses; disgustingly loathsome; noisome: a foul smell". Coincidence, I think not.

Let's get back to the suspect at hand: the peacock. Yes, if you are wondering, the same peacock is still on my lanai (deck). The only difference, is that now, he has pooped twice as much gray colored feces similar to oatmeal in texture. In detail, it's the oatmeal that you added twice as much water to because you accidentally looked at directions for making the meal for two instead of one. It happens. And it happened all over my lanai. Of course, he chose the spot right in front of the entryway. The spot where he knew I would want to venture eventually. But that wasn't enough. Oh no, not for this little guy. It was like he was oblivious to his poop. He pretended to not notice it and he walked through it continuously until it was tracked the whole length of the double doors.

It gets worse. He pecks at my flowers. The flowers that I had good intentions for admist my attempt to develop a green thumb. You should know that I am continually trying to revive the poor plant, moving it from the front to the back of the house, and sheltering it when the wind picks up, pretty much catering to it's every need (that I can think of). I even added fertilizer to give the flowers some life, something I never do, a last-ditch effort. Now it's come to my knowledge, that it is in all seriousness being pecked to death by an insidious creature with a brain the size of a walnut.

If you've never heard the cry of a peacock. You don't want to. It will frighten you. It can be compared to a child's scream for bloody murder, or the sound that may come from a bedroom during a frisky lovemaking session magnified in volume tenfold. The first time I heard it, I ran outside and searched for what had gone horribly wrong, half expecting to find a child lost for three months or a stray cat that been run over by a semi and somehow managed to survive. This is the call of the peacock. A sound we have grown all too familar with. Daily.

In conclusion, peacocks are on my list. Don't trust them.