The Peafowl Bedtime Saga
The Night I Turned The Greenhouse Into An Airbnb
I decided to end the Great Peacock Bedtime Rebellion the way all serious ranch problems should be handled.
With power tools.
I got a spotlight installed. I waited till dusk. I had treats on hand. I was ready to negotiate, except my clients were four birds with zero respect for contracts.
Between the light inside and the floodlight outside, my mostly transparent greenhouse started to look like a beautiful Airbnb. Warm glow. Open concept. Tree-limb perches. Heaters. The whole vibe said: relax, unwind, and stop sleeping on the roof like a tiny feathered gargoyle.
It was so inviting I almost moved in myself.
They Loved The Lights (Just Not The Part Where They Go Inside)
The peafowl were thrilled with the floodlight. They got to cheat dusk. They stood out there in the glow like they were at a red-carpet event for bad decisions.
I had them all gathered. All the doors were open. The entrance was right there. The building had been their home for months.
And yet they circled around each other, NOT going in.
It was like watching four teenagers pace outside a perfectly nice house party because someone might make them take their shoes off.
It got darker. I kept waiting for the moment common sense would kick in.
Because surely, once it was truly dark, they would not want to go to the roof. There is no way they would choose rooftop camping in full darkness.
I was on the edge of winning the four-day Texas-style standoff.
All I needed was one bird. Just one. One brave soul to wander in, and the rest would follow like shopping carts with a bad wheel.
I stepped to the side, ready to cheer. I was already composing my victory speech.
And then I saw it happen.
Neo Betrayed Me With Confidence
Neo looked at the roof of the greenhouse.
He stretched his neck upward, like he was checking for a good landing spot.
Then he flew up.
My precious, sweet baby who always follows everyone else, chose confidence and independence. He did not wander into the cozy greenhouse. He went straight to the roof like it was a penthouse suite.
And one by one, in line, they followed him.
Like it was rehearsed. Like they had a group chat. Like I was not standing there holding treats and shattered dreams.
I just stood there in shock.
Then I turned off the lights.
And I trudged inside.
That was it. I had officially lost the battle.
The Part Where I Admit I Have No Control
Here is the problem.
Our weather has been record highs in the 80’s this week of Christmas. They can get away with their roof phase right now. At some point, though, we will have freezing temps. And when that happens, their super cozy greenhouse-coop is going to look real appealing.
I hope.
But I honestly do not know if they will use it.
Because once peacocks decide something is a tradition, they commit like it is a family value.
For now, the “teach the birds to be free range” part of the plan seems to be complete.
Not because I taught them.
Because they taught me.
And if you need me, I will be inside, checking the forecast and googling: “How to convince a peacock that warmth is not a scam.”