I’m getting too old to be a part of the species to which I belong.
When travelling, we are now allowed to have all manner of support mechanisms to make getting from A to B more manageable – you can take your poodle to Portugal, or your Maine Coon to Malaysia, but there have to be limits, okay? Your peacock, ma’am, he needs to stay at home, or be the main course.
This should be common knowledge, but a woman in the US insisted on trying her damnedest to get her peacock boarded on an United Airlines flight from Newark to Los Angeles by claiming the bird was her “emotional support peacock”.
I have peacocks and peahens on our farm. There’s nothing emotionally supportive about these overgrown Streetwise Twos, unless you’ve got a penchant for loud honking noises and formal rose garden paths strewn with huge, lice-ridden feathers.
(At this point I have to mention that I just spent upwards of 45 minutes trying to find reference to a film about a large bird who has an obsessive relationship with a man, a film which I slowly started to surmise doesn’t actually exist beyond the confines of my mind. But, just as I was about to have a “moment”, I found it. It’s called The Cormorant, starring Ralph Fiennes, and it’s the kind of film that has an internet following so small I’m a little concerned as to how I know it exists.)
I think the word we’re all looking for here is “…anyway”.
To cut to the chase, apparently peacocks don’t fit the criteria for a support animal. And suddenly I’m not sure why I bothered writing this at all. It seemed poignant at the time.