Two weeks after my father left this earth on our Nation’s Birthday, a bird wandered into our front yard.

It wasn’t just any bird. It was a peacock.

He was young, so I wasn’t sure if it was a male or a female.

Our neighbors had raised peacocks before, so I just assumed that they had acquired more, and one of them had gotten out.

It wasn’t the neighbor’s, and a nearby vet said it wasn’t his, so I put pictures on Facebook.

It looked as if we had a new member of the family.

As you typically do when you get a new pet, we discussed what to name it. I texted a picture to the neighbor, who confirmed the bird was a male.

Without hesitation, I told my wife that we would name him, “Fred.”

The name came from a fella I knew who liked to strut in front of the ladies.

So, now we had a peacock named, Fred. Or, as I decided to call him, “Fred The Peacock.”

This is a trend I’ve had with pets. We had, “Bert The Dog,” “Cola The Cat,” and now, “Fred The Peacock.”

But what do you feed a peacock? A call to the vet revealed that high-protein cat food should be his main staple. This wasn’t a problem since we already had a cat.

Peacocks eat a lot. And they grow. Quickly.

When Fred The Peacock arrived, he was about three feet long and a couple of feet tall. He had no tail feathers to speak of and didn’t look like the colorful full-grown adults. And he walked around like a toddler.

Honestly, I was quite worried that the coyotes would get him.

But, time passed and Fred seemed to be able to take care of himself just fine. His favorite night roost was in a pine tree by the driveway. Later, after he grew to about six feet in length and his body and tail had filled in with purple and green color, he decided he’d move to a nicer apartment. He relocated to a limb way up in an elm tree by the road.

Almost like clockwork just prior to 8 a.m., Fred The Peacock would call from the trees right before he decided to come down for the day. Around 6 p.m., if we hadn’t put his food on the patio, he’d come to the glass patio door and look into the house to let us know we’d missed his dinner. Then around 8 p.m., he flew back into his elm tree.

Everything seemed to be going just fine. Until one day when I noticed him limping. It was a weekend and pouring rain. I couldn’t get close enough to quite see what was wrong. And then he came up on the patio.

His right foot and leg was about five times the size of his left.

I logged on to the web and searched for, “swollen peacock foot.” That’s when I learned that large and exotic birds are susceptible to all kinds of problems related to an unbalanced diet, respiratory illnesses, and injuries.

I suspected that it was the former. We’d only been feeding him cat food. The web searches said peacocks also need fruit and vegetables. I should have done my homework earlier.

Adding fruit and vegetables to his diet was easily remedied, but Fred had all but stopped eating. And then he became lethargic. He flew up on a planting table on the patio and just sat there with his head drooping.

This went on for hours. I went out and sat with him and talked, just to let him know that I didn’t know what to do for him, but that if he came out of this, he’d be fed much better than before.

I thought he was going to die.

I’d never prayed for a peacock before, but I did that weekend. I thought about how, when I’d just lost my dad, this bird showed up. Was it a distraction for my sorrow, or was he a gift from someone I’d loved dearly?

I didn’t know, but I was about as sad as I could get. I called the local emergency vets, but they don’t treat exotic birds. I found out that very few vets in my area do.

So, I waited. And I prayed.

Fred went up into his tree that Saturday, but the next day, I didn’t see him come down. I thought the worst.

But, at the end of Sunday, here he came. His leg swelling was going down. He was still limping, but he made it onto the patio for his dinner. He got cat food, but he also had strawberries and grapes, which he loved.

Fred is now recovered and back to his routine. So am I. I call for him in the morning while he’s in his tree, and I tell him goodnight each evening as he makes his way back.

I know it may seem ridiculous to be that attached to a bird. But, I am. He even has his own Facebook page. Follow him at @PeacockFred.

One final note I’ve been asked who Fred The Peacock is named after. If you know me and your name is Fred, I’ll let you guess whether it was you or not.

 

©2019 John Moore

John’s book, Write of Passage: A Southerner’s View of Then and Now, is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. You can email John through his website at www.TheCountryWriter.com.