A Story About A Peacock

I keep thinking that I want to write in my blog.  I sit down at my computer, and I stare at the screen.  I stare at the little piles of notes, and bills, and m&m wrappers scattered on my desk.  I stare at my fingernails that need to be filed and repainted.  I have stories I want to tell, pictures I want to show, and general and exciting news to share, but my brain is so liquid right now that thoughts just float around like lost ice cubes, and when I try to grab for them I realize they have already melted away. 

That said, I am determined to try and tell you the Story Of The Peacock.  If it doesn't make any sense, if you feel bewildered after reading, just let me know and when my brain takes on some semblance of functionality again I'll try to rewrite it. 

Maybe I'll just keep it simple.

My grandpa was visiting us.

Devin took the day off of work.

We went to the zoo.

We walked around, enjoying the nice day, seeing the animals, and spending time together.

We stopped to eat our lunch.  A simple lunch, peanut and butter sandwiches and various crackers and cookies.

A few picnic tables away, a family was being harassed by an overeager peacock.  We watched, mildly amused at this bold blue bird.

It eventually gave up on that family, and came over to check out what was on our menu.

 He said "hello, good afternoon" to Grandpa.  "That's a fine looking sandwich you have there." 

 He wandered around the table, over to where Hanna was sitting with her own sandwich and applesauce.  "Hey cutie.  How tight is your grip on that sandwich there, anyway?" He suavely asked.

Seeing he was getting nowhere with Grandpa or Hanna he continued his way around the table.  He inched closer and closer to Hallie.  She seemed a likely bet.

Such a good bet in fact, that he jumped up on the bench and got in her face.  I say, there was a peacock.  In. Her. Face.

You'd think I'd have a picture of that, but

fast as you can say "whatjusthappenedthere'sapeacockinmydaughter'sfaceIthinkitwantshersandwich" Devin had jumped out of his own seat, ran around the table, and kicked that bold blue bird square in the chest knocking him back off the bench.  She's daddy's little girl see.

Now you might think that after getting kicked off the table the peacock would leave us alone, but no. He came back again once or twice and I had to stomp after him, shooing and shouting.

Crazy peacock.

And that's my Story About A Peacock.  Every word is true.  Except Devin would prefer if instead of using the word "kick" I used "push". 

"I pushed the peacock with my foot" he tells me, because apparently that is so different from kicking.

When in fact I think that is the definition of kicking.