I found
them in the bushes today. They were wet
and crumpled. I had to put on gloves to
pick them up. I knew immediately what they
were, but I started wondering what the story was behind how they got there and what it had to say to me.
I live
in a typical suburban neighborhood in a typical large suburb. There is not much that happens here outside
of the ordinary. Every now and again something bubbles up and shows you that
you are not immune to the things that happen in every large place where people
live. Even in my safe little postage
stamp of the world foreclosures, drug overdoses, larceny, and even murder are
things we, like everyone else in the world right now, have to deal with. I wish it wasn’t so but it’s there. I didn’t
imagine, though, having to ever consider what to do with the remnants of a
peacock.
Peacocks
are nasty birds. Sure they are beautiful, but don’t get in their way. On our honeymoon in Hawaii, when Karen and I were
settling down to a picnic lunch, a gang of them attacked her trying to get her
sandwich. Being the good husband I am, I
tried to capture it on film. Minutes
later I was rescuing her from a relentless band that might have pecked her to
death for a chance at a turkey on wheat. Consequently, I am not a fan of
peacocks.
I grew
up for the most part in a suburb northwest of Chicago. It was and is the classic example of
sprawl. You can drive less than five
miles in any direction and be in another town.
The only way you know is that you might see a sign that says, “Now
entering…” or “Welcome to…” I don’t know
why but I expected the same thing when we moved out of the city to our current
house. It wasn’t quite like that. Because
I was working and traveling Karen took care of most of the setting-up and
moving into our new house. On the first
weekend I was there, she sent me to the hardware store and I got lost. I called her. I said, “Well, I’m in
cornfields somewhere and I don’t know how to get home.”
Our town
has built up a lot since we first moved here seventeen years ago but there are
still pockets of the old farming town that Naperville once was. There are still a lot of unincorporated areas
and places where people decided not to sell when subdivisions, parks, and
preserves were being established. Most
of these cannot be discerned from other neighborhoods around them but there are,
as always, exceptions.
The most
notable exception for me is the guy across 87th Street that holds a
carved out parcel in the forest preserve.
He lives in a fairly dilapidated house and makes his money by letting
people park their trucks, RVs and boats on his land. He also has a barnyard where he raises
chickens, ducks, rabbits and other assorted creatures. He is not a good barnyard keeper. It is not rare that we have to stop our cars
on the streets to avoid fleeing geese or to wake up to guinea hens that have
traveled into our yard because he doesn’t know how to pen things properly. When I was still in the corporate world, I
knew it was near time for the bus to arrive because that is when the roosters
went off. Unfortunately, because of
this, I also have to deal with foxes, hawks and coyotes that have been
attracted by the restaurant fare. I have
a family of rabbits that live under a shed platform on the side of my house
that I have essentially left alone because I am soft and I don’t want them to be
the fodder of owls.
One night
when we were having a bonfire, Lexi, my American bulldog was whimpering and
playing with something in her paws. I went over to her. It was a baby white rabbit that had been
mauled and was barely alive. My son,
Ben, asked, “What are you going to do?”
I said sadly, “I’m going to as quickly and as humanely as possible kill
it.” After I did the deed I stood by a tree in the front yard and cried for
twenty minutes. One of Ben’s friends
came to me and asked “Are you alright, Tom?”
I said, “No. I hate that son-of-a-bitch for making me have to do that.”
Recently,
the straw came that broke a lot of backs.
Posted on the road down from the neighbor’s barnyard was a crudely
handwritten sign that said: “Lost peacock. If seen call…” I had had enough. I
called our city’s animal control people and was basically told that there was
nothing they could do unless it was found on our incorporated property. I called the county and the State and got a
lot of runaround. “Nothing we can do unless you see it and it is a nuisance.” Driving by the sign one day while I was
taking my daughter, Meredith, to her friend’s house, I got incensed again. She
said, “Mr. Keith says, if we have seen that sign this long what we have here is
a former peacock.” I knew she and Keith were probably right but something
inside me hoped that maybe that peacock, wherever it was, was still alive.
One of
the last things I did when I was working corporate was to fly to North Carolina
to do some, what seemed like, simple demonstrations of my company’s products. I
like talking in front of people. It is
kind of a rush for me. I prepped for a long time, so I felt great about it. My first indication that I was in over my
head was when I got to the airport and there was a man holding a sign with my
name on it. He took me to the hotel where I was going be staying and he handed
me his card. He said, “Mr. Sharpe, I
will be your driver while you are here.
Just call when you’re ready to go anywhere.” I checked into my room, which was quite the
sweet suite. I had dinner in the hotel restaurant and they were very
deferential. I paid for nothing. I
thought “I must be the man.”
The next day I went to rehearsal for the demos. When they miked me, turned on the huge plasma screens, and told me that I would be following Clayton Christensen, Harvard professor and the reigning guru of innovation, I realized they were expecting a lot more out of me than I had right then. “Tomorrow you will be having lunch with Clayton as well,” they said. I said, “Well, OK.” Later that first that day we went to lunch and visited the third largest collection of classic Porsches in the world. It is owned by the family of one of the giants in the pharmaceutical industry. I excused myself early and went to my room to revise what I was going to talk about the next day…and to throw up.
The next day I went to rehearsal for the demos. When they miked me, turned on the huge plasma screens, and told me that I would be following Clayton Christensen, Harvard professor and the reigning guru of innovation, I realized they were expecting a lot more out of me than I had right then. “Tomorrow you will be having lunch with Clayton as well,” they said. I said, “Well, OK.” Later that first that day we went to lunch and visited the third largest collection of classic Porsches in the world. It is owned by the family of one of the giants in the pharmaceutical industry. I excused myself early and went to my room to revise what I was going to talk about the next day…and to throw up.
Somehow
I managed to acquit myself without embarrassing either me or my company. As soon as the meeting was over I went to the
airport, rented a car, and headed to see my brother-in-law, Michael, and his
wife, Jody. To my chagrin I was given an
electric lime green Kia soul. I could
not get my IPod to play anything through the car except for rap music, which as
much as I like it, was not what I wanted to hear right then. All the way on the
road I had to stop myself from tapping my hand on the steering wheel like some anthropomorphic hamster
in an overplayed commercial.
Michael and Jody own a horse farm not
far from Winston-Salem. Aside from the
fact that Michael and Jody are two of the most generous and kind people in the
world, their home is by far the one place I always want to be when I need to
find peace. It is an amazing place of
calm. I love walking in their woods, watching the sun go down on the horses in
the meadow, and sitting on their porch rocking in a chair listening to the
trees swaying in the breeze. That
weekend they must have sensed that I was at a crossroads in my life. That I was trying to figure something out. They
let me be. They let me be alone and hide out for awhile. I sat on their back
porch and wrote a lot, I cooked in their kitchen. Michael and I sat up one
night talking about books and movies, texting my sons, laughing and listening
to Frank Sinatra. It was just what I
needed. Mostly, I just took the time to think a lot about where I was and where
I thought I might go next.
For the last couple of weeks or so Lexi has been acting strangely. Lexi is not a killer. She thinks that ground squirrels are wind-up
toys put there for her amusement to chase but she never tries to catch them. She
never barks either. What is odd is
that for awhile whenever someone walks through the side yard she does. She gets agitated. I thought maybe the rabbits were bothering
her, but she never advances on anything, so I wasn’t sure. Most days she just parks
in the sun looking at the side yard and then barks whenever anyone comes through
that path. Today I figured out why.
I was moving some wood around and I saw
in the bushes the remnants of a colorful feather. I dug a little deeper in the brush and found
some more. I knew immediately what they
were. They were crumpled and wet from the dew. I got gloves and cleaned them out. The whole
time I was doing it Lexi looked on, like I might find a treat for her. I finally took her face in my hands and said, “I’m
sorry, girl. Your friend was here but he is gone now. I hope he is still well.”
For such a proud and aggressive bird, I
guess the peacock is no different than the rest of us. Sometimes we all need to hide out for a bit,
get strong, and then figure out what we are going to do next so we can flourish. For peacocks it may be the hedges in my side yard. For some of us it is North
Carolina.
The important thing to think about and to take away from this is that even peacocks need shelter and a friend to watch
over them every now and then. Even peacocks
need to hide sometimes.
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