I Was Attacked by a Beautiful Psycho Killer and Lived!
It was a Saturday morning in late July. 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 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, who looked out of place this side of Iran, 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? Presumed cardboard box assault? 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:
To read my next Scar Story, click here.
Wow! Joan had a tude! I love your way with a story – thank you
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Wow – that was quite a Peacock story. Now, I know why you don’t like Peacocks, especially when they attack without warning!
We had a shop once armed with an attack duck.
;>) https://www.bing.com/images/search?view=detailV2&ccid=ayoO8aU%2f&id=2413570B8A92C63C37AB706EB747553F73DB493F&thid=OIP.ayoO8aU_Ag9W49DzS0Rw5QEsDI&q=commando+duck&simid=607990504002748599&selectedIndex=2&ajaxhist=0
Great line: “So I punched him in the face.”
Minor suggestion: I don’t think a sentence should begin with “14.” I would spell it out.
Good idea, Chris.
I work in a University Writing Centre, and that is one of the “rules” we teach.
In casual writing, I tend to use digits for time passage and people’s ages, but you’re right about beginning a sentence that way; it looks better spelled out.
LOL! Thank you for the chuckle. I loved the whole story. 🙂
Oh yeah, you don’t want to mess with peacocks. They can be nasty!
So I discovered, CJ!
I have a friend who has a peacock. She has to let you out of your car until he gets to know you pretty well. You’re lucky you survived Joan!
Great story!
“There was something intentional about that view.” Beautiful perspective;)
I just gave myself a stitch!
I read the whole thing, then I reread it with just the bolded parts. Great stories.
Thanks, Jay!
Well done Mitch, You took me back to those high meadows surrounding, Mt. Shasta and Lassen, beauty unparalleled.
I love your narrative, Mitch. I have so much to learn.
Thank you, Hue.
” Because we were twenty!” Love it! ❤️
Wow! Love this story. I wonder how a 20 yr old would tell Joan’s story 🙂
;>)
Great story!!! 🙂
Yes, they sound like what I imagine a banshee must sound like. They are also fiercely protective of pea-lets (their babies). Though I was never attacked they frequented the private school in Miami where I taught for a while. They also like raisins.
I loved this story! Humor and adventure at it’s best.
Great story, glad it was nothing serious. That is why they tell us not to feed wild animals. My daughter was attacked (licked in the face) by a giraffe after feeding it at a Wildlife Safari, we thought it was going to bite her. Even though you were attacked, it is funny,. Guess time does that.
Indeed, time heals all wounds. Or, as others say, wounds all heels.
Friends of ours kept peafowl, both male and female, several colored and a pure white one. We were warned on our first visit to the farm not to get close. Peafowl are some of my favorite birds so it was difficult for me to obey. But I have enough scars–physical and in my soul–to keep me telling stories for a lifetime.
Thanks for sharing another Scar Story.
Tea and freakin’ crumpets! 😀 haha
HA!
It is funny now, but not at that moment, right? I loved your tale. I am sure both of wiser with age.
Thanks,
Gary
I assume you meant “both of us,” Gary. I’m not sure Joan ever wised up. ;>)
Yep, Joan is decorating someone’s wall by now.
If they were honey nut, I would kill for those too. If they were plain, that bird was just crazy!
Plain–gotta think like a peacock. No, on second thought, don’t.