Sad Situation

At least I think parts of it are sad...

Most of you know about our peacocks. I did a nest cam update on Facebook all through the spring and summer months showcasing Lil Momma and her brood of eggs and then her growing peachicks. Now don't panic...after the first early loss of one tiny baby to what was most likely a resident cat, she has managed to keep the other five healthy, or mostly healthy.

That leads me to the sad part. Several weeks ago, one of the chicks was injured somehow. We never really figured out how this happened. The cats had given up noticing them,

so raccoons, coyotes, owls, self-inflicted flight lessons, marauding dogs from across the border? Who knows. But one little dude/dudette was limping and dragging a wing--desperately trying to keep up with the bunch and failing miserably. Lil Momma tried, sort of, to keep up with four rambunctious children while calling this other one to stay close, but in the end, we had to put the injured chick in a small enclosure to heal.

We even put the whole family in there for a day or two, but Lil Momma added to everyone's trouble by pacing up and down the fence, stomping small bodies as she went. We eventually had to resign the little cripple to solitary confinement for the benefit of all.

Flash forward a couple of weeks, and recovery complete, we set the captive free. I just knew all would be well, and the baby would take right up where he/she left off. After all, it had only been two weeks, maybe a little more. I lost count.

Apparently Lil Momma lost count, too. FOUR babies were the right number now, and it didn't matter to her that there wasn't another peacock in the whole county who could have dropped off a child and then forgot to return for it. The "new" baby was persona non grata, a little vagrant bent on stealing the food right out of her family's beaks. The newly-recovered chick has tried every tactic to fit in, but is constantly chased, pecked, and ostracized by its former mother.

The saddest episode happened the first night he/she got paroled. Still a little rusty from confinement, it worked diligently to get on the high crossbar where the family still sleeps. I was so excited that it could actually fly that far (you see I was hiding out behind the shed watching what would happen). I'm like that: nosy, concerned, wanting to help, interfering, etc.

Just as I was breathing a little easier, outcast baby worked its way over to the little group bedded down next to momma. SHE immediately took notice of the interloper and smoothly reached across the two chicks by her side, grabbed the little thing by its wing and flung it to the ground.

Totally stunned, I watched the whole scene play out AGAIN. After the second face-in-the-dirt landing, outcast limped over to the chicken enclosure and spent the night near the hens and roosting guineas.

Keith called the baby "Cast," and it has stuck. Now I watch for Cast every morning; I am anxious to see that he/she has made it through another night outside its family's protection. Lil Momma brings her kids to the yard every morning a little after sunrise to sit them down under the bug whacker for an easy breakfast. Cast is always bringing up the rear--just beyond mom's relentless attacks, but not far enough to be without a small bit of company.

I can't help it, but my heart breaks for him or her daily. And yes, I know I am assigning human traits to a species with a very tiny brain when I see it as that child on the edge of the playground who doesn't quite fit in, who maybe isn't good at sports, or speaks a different language, or is handicapped. But Mother Nature has a lot to teach us, if we will only see it. As sad as the situation seems to be, little Cast is a fighter. I don't see him/her doing much whining. Cast hangs in there, moving with a careful eye, getting stronger, growing, and living the best possible life in this new reality.