My Scar Stories

I Was Attacked by a Beautiful Psycho Killer and Lived!

wpid238-fixed-horizon-940x1419It was a Saturday morning. My buddy Ray showed up, tragically bored. Before long we were hopped up on caffeine and had decided to drive to Oregon. Because we were 20. We made sure we were properly prepared, though, shoving spare underwear and cereal into a well-crafted travel container (cardboard box). We hit the road ten minutes after we’d decided to go. Because we were 20.

Fourteen hours later we rolled into the parking lot of Lake Siskiyou near Mt. Shasta. We parked in darkness and crawled into the back of my Chevy Vega to sleep. Just before drifting off, I heard a hideous, otherworldly scream. Disembodied Siskiyou spirits?

Night fled. A honeyed-orange sun pierced the darkness, burning majestic Mt. Shasta’s image onto the lake before us, and onto my memory. I sat on the hood of the Vega, eating Cheerios, in awe of the paradisiacal sight. I was an atheist at the time (though beginning to doubt my doubts), but I remember thinking, Explain this, Darwin. There was something intentional about that view.

My reverie was broken by a scream like the one I’d heard the night before. I adjusted my gaze and saw, to my astonishment, a spectacular seven foot wide feathered fan.

It was a peacock, as in a male of the peafowl species. Ray dubbed him “Joan.” Joan and his harem were parking lot panhandlers. A stiff shake of the feathers meant, “Will flash for food.”

So I tossed him a Cheerio. He snatched it out of the air. Then another. And another. The wives laid back, picking up cast-offs, but Joan wide-received at least two dozen passes before I slid off the car hood and began packing.

After gathering up everything we’d tossed out of the car the night before to make room for our sleeping bags, I walked back toward the hatch, clutching the big cardboard box.

Suddenly the world exploded. Nails pierced my arms. Huge objects pummeled the sides of my head. A railway spike drove at my eyes, bent on shish-ka-bobbing them! What the…?

It was Joan. I have no idea what set him off. Mating season? Some unintended Persian insult? I had no choice but to defend myself or wander blind forever, blood streaming from Oedipal eye sockets.

So I punched him in the face.

I don’t take pleasure in abusing birds. Foreign or domestic. But it was punch or be impaled. Joan lay stunned on the ground for a moment, then jumped up, ready for more, his head bobbing menacingly. The winner, presumably, would get the harem.

I walked away. Joan hurled insults at me (“Pea runt! Pea chicken!”). I felt like Edward Norton.

Joan was not the only creature who ever scarred me.

But he was probably the prettiest.

Compared to Joan’s attack, this is tea and freakin’ crumpets, but it’ll give you some idea:

To read my next Scar Story, click here.

About mitchteemley

Writer, Filmmaker, Humorist, Thinker-about-stuffer
This entry was posted in Humor, Memoir, Story Power and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

33 Responses to My Scar Stories

  1. This trumps Jimmy Carter’s Tale of the Attack Rabbit (circa 1978).

    Liked by 4 people

  2. seekingdivineperspective.com says:

    Wow, were we separated at birth? When I was in college my husband (then fiancé) and I had gone out to get some doughnuts and bring them back to the dorm for my friends. We stopped at a beautiful Southern plantation-type house where we saw ducks, geese, and swans wandering aimlessly about. We rolled down the windows and tossed some doughnut crumbs to them. Before we knew it we were under attack by the whole flock! We backed out onto the busy road and fled in my Vega (I kid you not! It was avocado green. :/ ). When I looked back, the birds were wandering out into the road. We left quickly enough that we never found out if we were responsible for any road kill. But surely we’d be forgiven. After all, I was 20. 😉

    Liked by 6 people

  3. Pingback: My Scar Stories | Mitch Teemley

  4. pkadams says:

    Yikes! Did he really claw your eyes?!

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Never been attacked by a peacock but have been by a swan. Just about the same amount of fun. My grandmother said growing up they had attack geese in their front yard to keep strangers away!

    Liked by 2 people

  6. I don’t know which is more horrifying: your being attacked by a peacock or admitting to owning a Chevy Vega.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. I’ve never even heard of anything like that happening before! Wow!!!!! Isn’t Oregon beautiful!

    Liked by 2 people

  8. lprslr says:

    I will not apologize, but this made me laugh hysterically- and I so needed a guy-wrenching laugh today. Thank you!

    Liked by 2 people

  9. This is a great reflection of your 20″s. There comes a time when your 20″s are not so easy to remember. However, the memories can not be replaced. Using age for justification is a wonderful technique.

    Liked by 2 people

  10. Kathleen Ellerman says:

    A Chevy vega…my first car was a 1961 Corvair, convertible. I’ve never been attacked by a bird tho.

    Liked by 2 people

  11. Dawn Renee says:

    Please, please don’t take this the wrong way, but if I ever need a good laugh, I shall visit here and learn of your woeful experiences.

    Liked by 2 people

  12. Some of your posts should come with a warning stating something like, “This post may inadvertently lead to choking on your morning coffee!” 🙂

    “Will flash for food”
    “I don’t take pleasure in abusing birds.”

    Oh my gosh I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in along time!

    Love your stories. Love your humor!

    Liked by 2 people

  13. Bill Sweeney says:

    LOL 🙂 A Vega 🙂

    Liked by 3 people

  14. SHRUTI DUBEY says:

    Well, i have now decided to be beware of peacocks!!😌

    Liked by 1 person

  15. susielindau says:

    I didn’t know they could be nasty birds!

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s