Of Peacocks and Pigeons

You know what really ruffles my feathers?

Peacocks.

They think they’re so great, prancing around the zoo with their fancy colors and giant tail feathers. People are mesmerized in their presence, and I say, what for? It’s not like they did anything special to look like that; they were born that way. My neck colors can be stunning, too, if the light hits just right. But people don’t seem to notice that. Or care.

I could honestly spend the rest of my two- to five-year life span detailing all the reasons why I detest peacocks and –

What’s that? You’re confused about the comment regarding the neck feathers? Oh, sorry about that. I probably should have mentioned from the get-go that I’m a pigeon. Thinking back on my rant now, I feel like that key piece of information would have added some much-needed context. You might have to start over again so it makes sense. Anyway, as I was saying…

My gripe with these flamboyant fools is not misplaced. I live near the south side of the city, which contains the zoo, which means I’m in constant proximity to these peacocks. (Side note, I normally don’t use the “pea” at the beginning of the word, but I know this story will be accessible to a large audience and this crude language may be uncomfortable for some, so I’ll continue with the censored version just in case.)

We pigeons don’t like being looked down upon. A little sympathy from time to tome would be nice, but instead, we get no attention at all. When a peacock walks by a group of people at the zoo, the crowds stand aside to let them pass as if they were royalty. The people pull out their phones and snap pictures from every angle until those pinheads show off their ridiculous backend.

But not me. The crowds don’t part for me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been accidentally kicked, stepped on, and even trampled. One kid ran over my foot with his bike and sliced it clean off without so much as a backward glance. Now, I have to hobble around with a stump.

And I never get a daily photoshoot, either. Although, I must say, ever since I lost my foot more people have been taking photos and laughing for whatever reason. Nonetheless, peacocks are nothing more than talentless hacks that just got the better end of the beauty stick, and they know it.

They hate us because they see us as grubby little thieves, but they could never understand our lives or what we have to endure every day just to make it to the next one. Maybe if they did, they wouldn’t look down at us with such contempt.

And we hate those pompous peabrains right back. It’s a bit of a “chicken or the egg” situation, as no one knows which group started this animosity toward the other, but it doesn’t matter now. We know what they are and we despise them for it. End of story.

But, as part of a pigeon’s code of conduct, I will never pass up an easy meal, even if it means getting food in the zoo and dealing with these gaudy idiots.

Once the zoo closes, I wait for the zookeepers to dish out the food. I snag as much as I can and take it to a nice quiet spot underneath a nearby tree.

“Excuse me,” someone says. I look around and see no one. It must be the voices again. I thought they disappeared once I recovered from that head injury. That, or I’ve finally succumbed to insanity. I’m honestly surprised it took this long.

“Up here.”

It’s not the sweet embrace of madness, but an old peacock, perched in the tree above me. Even though he’s quite long in the beak he’s still stunning, and I hate that. He flits down from his branch and towers over me. I didn’t realize how big they were. I’ve never had one stand so close to me, let alone speak to me.

“Do you think it’s acceptable to steal someone else’s food?” he asks.

Oh, no. There’s no finching way I’m being reprimanded by this colorful ignoramus.

“It’s not stealing if the animals don’t want it,” I retort. “The zookeepers left it there and they didn’t race over to eat it, so they must not be very hungry.”

“You stole food from the sloth enclosure.”

“Well, you snooze, you lose,” I say.

“Stealing is a crime, you know.”

“Go ahead, report me to the zoo. I’m sure they’ll put up my picture at the entrance. Now leave me alone.”

“If you’d like, I can offer some of my food. They gave me too much so I have plenty to spare. It’s very fresh and quite nutritious.”

“Uh, thanks, but I’m fine,” I say. Quality and freshness have never been a prerequisite for me. I’m content eating trash, for goose’s sake. Just this morning I battled with a blind, toothless cat over a moldy sandwich. I didn’t win, but I did put up one peck of a fight.

“But don’t you want the best food possible?” he continues. “It’s important to maintain a healthy diet –”

“Look, pal, I can take care of myself, okay?” I snap back. He eyes me up and down, stopping to stare at my swollen stump. Is he really judging me right now? “I don't need some cocky bird telling me what to do, so why don’t you stay the duck out of my business and go away?”

“I wasn’t trying to be cocky. I just wanted to –”

“You don’t have to try, it’s in your blood – and it’s in your name! Did you ever wonder why you’re called peacocks? Huh?”

“I was only trying to help.”

“You know what would really help? Getting off your high hawk. My kind have to struggle and scavenge every day just to get by, so we do whatever we have to do to survive. If that means taking food from the sloths, then I’ll do it. If that makes me a criminal, then so be it. You’re just a bunch of pompous, pampered, pinheaded pricks that could never possibly understand what it’s like to be us. You peacocks get everything handed to you.”

“You’re quite right,” he concedes.

“And another thing – wait, what was that?” Did a peacock just agree with me?

“You’re quite right,” he repeats. “I have it very easy. I’ve lived in this zoo my entire life. I’ve never experienced being cold or hungry or in danger of predators. I don’t know what it’s like to struggle with those hardships. But I also don’t know what it’s like to be free. What I wouldn’t give see the world beyond these walls.”

“You’re a bird, aren’t you? Why don’t you just fly away? I’ve seen you guys fly around the zoo before.”

“We’re not built for long-distance flights, as our tails are too heavy. We can only flutter about.”

“Okay then, why can’t you just flutter over to the other side?”

“Wouldn’t that be a sight?” he laughs sarcastically. “A peacock strutting around the city streets. I’d be brought back here in less than five minutes. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be invisible. For the humans to pass me by and not give me a second glance. To be able to live the way I want without being under their watchful eye.”

Huh. I’ve always been jealous of the attention peacocks get. I always figured it was better than being completely ignored.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful about my life here, but it is quite tiring. Every time the humans come by they follow us around until one of us puts on a show for them. If we don’t, they harass us until we do. The humans are a less intelligent species, so I know they mean no harm, but they don’t realize how degrading it is for us. We’re only there for their amusement, and once they’ve had their fill, they move on and make room for the next group. Then the process repeats. At times, it can be such a demeaning existence.”

Wow. I never really thought of it like that before. Sure, they have the good life, but it’s not the life they want. Secretly I had always wanted to switch places with a peacock, as they had everything I always dreamed of. But I didn’t realize it came at the cost of freedom.

“I guess the pampered zoo life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, huh?” I offer.

“You’re quite right,” he replies, "just as the city life has its own difficulties. Everyone’s situation is different, and I guess you never really know until you get to know them.”

“I never thought I’d get to know a peacock. I thought you were all the same,” I admit.

“We’re not all pompous pinheads, just like not all pigeons are conniving thieves. You are an individual, as am I. Being in a group doesn’t automatically turn you into a stereotype. You can belong to a group and still be you.”

“I never thought of it that way. Thanks for the perspective Mr…?”

“My name is Arivuselvan,” he says, bowing low. “It means ‘one who is wealthy in wisdom’ in the land of my ancestors. But you may call me Arivu.”

“My name’s Chip. Uh...named for the popular nourishment that sustains humans.” I try bowing, too, but the stump’s not good for my balance and I almost beak-plant into the dirt.

“Indeed,” Arivu chuckles. “Say, Chip, how would you like to make a deal with an old bird like me? I’ll share my dinner with you on the condition that you bring me something from beyond the wall. Something I’ve always desired. Oh, what’s it called? It’s a greasy stick of meat that’s squished between two pieces of dough. The humans love it.”

“A hotdog?”

“Yes, that’s it! I’ll trade you some of my food for a hot dog. Make sure to put mustard on it, too.”

A hotdog is the most unpeacock-like food I could think of, but I’m guessing that’s the reason why Arivu wants one. He’ll gets to experience the city’s finest cuisine while I get to dine on some good food that I don’t have to fight an alley rat for. I think that’s what’s called killing two stones with one bird, or whatever the expression is.

“So, do we have a deal my fowl friend?”

“Me?” I scoff jokingly. “Friends with a pompous peacock? My mother would be so disappointed if she knew I was sharing food with the likes of you. But yes, we have a deal. Friend.”

We shake wings and make it official.

“We make quite the odd couple,” Arivu remarks.

“Like beauty and the beak.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you.”

“What is? Clearly I’m the beauty,” I say, and we both share a laugh, something else I never thought I’d share with a peacock.

“You know, my dear fowl, I think you’re quite right.”