“Another time, one of the peacocks flew off the hill to the clinic parking lot, swooping and calling. Pete was working on a paint mare that was being a real jerk, jumping around, being difficult. When the peacock swooped down into the parking lot where the horse was standing, the horse just froze. The horse never moved again until Pete finished vetting it.
“The last peacock was stolen when someone broke into the clinic and lifted eleven dollars, some rabies vaccine, and J.B., short for Jaunty Bird, the last of the peacocks. The night of the robbery, we could see the tire tracks up our hill to the farmhouse. We could also see by the scratches on the inside of our kitchen door that Puff, my Belgian sheepdog, had greeted the burglars with growls and barking. They stole J.B., we weren’t upset. J.B. had already cost Pete plenty when the bird decided to roost on top of a client’s car and scratched it, requiring Pete to pay for a new paint job. After that, I said, ‘No more peacocks!’”
Hearing a peacock (listen below) in the heart of southeastern Ohio made you feel like you were on an exotic island – a scene from Hatari or The Jungle Book, maybe Mowgli was somewhere nearby. But, alas, it was just the Milliron Clinic parking lot, where peacocks once roamed.