I remember a program on television many years ago (perhaps a segment on Sixty Minutes) that focused on an urban activity called "pigeon wars. " Old farts in New York City would raise pigeons on their apartment building rooftops and then at certain times let them go simultaneously. The birds of the different owners would proceed to mix it up in the air for quite awhile, and eventually return to their own cages. Some however would get confused and go home with the wrong pigeons. So the object of the war games was to let your birds loose to join in the airborne commotion, and then hope that your birds made it home safely and perhaps brought a few friends along. Each flock would supposedly increase or decrease depending on how smart your birds were - and how dumb the other guy's were.
I sort of empathized with those pigeon people today as the neighbor lad and I tried moving the peacocks into their new home. My original plan had been to catch each one in their old pen and move them one-by-one to their new digs. At the last minute, however, I changed my mind and decided to try walking them over to the Peacock Palace.
That was a big mistake.
I began by coaxing three hens out of the old coop. One changed her mind about halfway along and rushed back to the little pen. The other two eventually let themselves be guided to their new home. That seemed simple enough, but the next two decided they would rather fly - one went east and one went west.
(The poor birds had not had the opportunity to fly before, and I think they really liked it!)
Then I reverted to the original plan and caught the following two, one at a time, and managed to get them relocated. When all of the dust settled we had four hens in the new coop, one male on a low branch of a tree out away from the barn, a male and a hen in a tree overlooking the new coop, and a hen sitting on the peak of the barn like a very proud weather vane. We managed to get the male on the low branch out of his tree and walked him to the new coop, but the other three remain at their posts keeping watchful eyes on their captive friends.
I am hopeful that tonight the three rebels will head back to the safety of their little pen, the one they grew up in - and if they do, I will grab their sorry carcasses and haul them kicking and shrieking to the Palace.
This is war!