Perhaps because as an undergrad I read every word ever published by Flannery O’Connor, I am obsessed with peacocks, more properly called peafowl – the males are peacocks, and the females are peahens. Ms. O’Connor, after being diagnosed with lupus and returning to the family farm near Milledgeville, Georgia, set about raising over 100 peafowl. She dearly loved peacocks, and often described them in her works, especially in the essay “The King of Birds.”
I once collected kitsch centered around another exotic bird, the flamingo, but I’ve since moved on to peacocks. I have peacock feathers stuck in jars, peacock earrings as big as my head that I love to wear with soft white blouses, and a peacock printed silk blouse I just recently picked up at Target. The ostentatious nature of peacocks somehow lifts my spirits, and I’ve been trying to get Honeydew to buy some for me to keep in the yard. I really think such an addition would lock in my title as “that crazy white lady who plays with bees and lives near Babb,” which is how I heard myself described by one of my clients in the Glacier County Courthouse. He did not know I was standing behind him.
Honeydew says no to the yard peacocks. He says that peacocks are obnoxious and noisy and sound like women screaming. I say that peacocks are like beautiful guard dogs. I say why do the usual things in life, like adopt a rez dawg and a lab/golden retriever for the yard? We’ve already done that. Let’s get peacocks!
To placate me, Honeydew took me peacock chasin’ while I was down in California, visiting him.
Aren’t they just gorgeous? Don’t you think we need them at Hillhouse?
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