On the way to dinner we saw a peacock in the middle of the road, about a half mile from the zoo. I got out of the car to take pictures and I noticed it had only one leg. It hopped a few times. I felt bad for the peacock.
Stefan briefly had a fantasy of taking the peacock home for the night, but I told him we’d never get the bird in the car. We tried to get into the zoo but it was closed. I called a few animal control numbers, but they were the bad kind of animal control, the kind that killed animals. That job doesn’t sound like very much fun.
Finally, I called the city animal shelter, which sent me to 3-1-1. The woman on the line seemed concerned. “Oh no,” she said. “Oh no.” A wayward, one-legged peacock is no joke. I did not feel confident they would find him, however. The sun was already setting.
After dinner, we drove back on the dark, winding roads more slowly than usual. I said, “Your goal for the night is to not hit the peacock.” We didn’t see him anywhere, though.
I worried about wolves getting to him. But maybe the peacock knew where to hide.