Parable of the Peacock
Honestly, I learned an amazing lesson today – from my peacock. To think I
spent all those years at the university and it is my farm animals that teach me
everything I need to know about raising a child who has been through complex
trauma. But, I digress.
Here’s the scoop – warning this is somewhat graphic. However, due to what
you all deal with on a daily basis, this probably isn’t too graphic for any of
you.
But, my dear peacock, that I have raised for years (since he was a little
peachick) got attacked by a dog. My dog, at that. We have several dogs that
guard and protect, but this new one was a puppy and decided to tease the birds.
Since the birds are trusting of my dogs, this poor peacock didn’t know what was
coming when Bear, a four month old puppy, came running at him. Anyway, Bear
grabbed the peacock by the neck and totally tore off the skin and feathers. I
mean totally. His neck looks like the neck of your prebaked thanksgiving
turkey, only without as much flesh covering it. Terrible, terrible injury.
Fortunately, since Bear was likely playing, he did not eat or kill the peacock,
but left it for dead.
My son, Luke, found the peacock in the yard. When he brought it in, he knew we could not save it. Luke and I have saved many farm animals in the past. I have given a goat an emergency c-section, I have performed surgery on goats who have had gashes, I have done lots of things no one would ever believe. I even once had a mini donkey with birth defects sleep in my room (after my husband went to sleep and returned it to outside before he knew). Tens of baby goats have been revived in my house. But, this peacock was a goner from the start.
Before people ask why I don’t take all these animals to the vet, I will tell you. They are family. And, in a rural community everything has value based on what it can do or what you can do with it. So, when you call about a $30 goat, the farm vet will tell you that it’s just not worth it. The amount of money you would put into fixing the goat is more than the goat is worth. In a farming community, people have a hard time understanding farm animals as family. They are a utility. So if the animal is not worth the vet bill, they don’t bother.
With that, I knew that this peacock was likely not going to make it, but you don’t give up on family. So, I cleansed the whole neck, put antibiotics on it, wrapped it carefully and propped him with pillows in my office. He could not
move; he looked dead. Really dead. But, if you looked closely, you could see breathing.
Fortunately, the neck is very strong on a peacock and is hard to break. I could not tell if he could move his feet. He was definitely as close to dead as you can be without being dead.
The next day, I tried to get him to sip water. Nope. I about pulled out my glock and put him down. I won’t save an animal if it appears futile and it appears that all I am doing is prolonging suffering. But, I couldn’t do it. As
I moved his neck for him to see if he’d drink, he moved one of his legs. I knew then that he wasn’t paralyzed. I squirted water with honey in his mouth, but it didn’t look like he could even swallow. I decided to see what he looked like in the morning.
In the morning, he looked dead still. I had to put my finger by his eye to see if he blinked. My husband taught me that farm sign of dead. An animal that won’t blink when you go to the eye is definitely fairly dead. Well, my peacock let me touch his eye, but he did blink.
I tried to give him more water knowing he would be dead shortly without water. I squirted a bit in and he did swallow. Progress. Small progress but progress.
Then, last night, I decided that I had to do all I could or put him down. I made a stomach tube, threaded it down his throat and started syringing water down his throat. Unfortunately, his throat was so swollen that most the water
came back up and almost drowned him. Two steps forward, four steps back.
This morning, which I was sure was his last, I went back in. I tried to pick up the syringe to put water in his mouth and he moved his legs back. I realized he did not want that stupid syringe again. Some feistiness, I like that.
So, I go to the farm store and get real stomach tube supplies. I come home and mix up some electrolytes and thread the stomach tube down. It goes down much easier this time. I put 60 ccs of electrolytes in him and none came back – wooo hooo!
When I went to put my peacock down, he begun flapping his wings and scratched me hard with his talons.
Think about that. He violently flapped his wings and left me with two big ole cuts on my hand from his talons.
Really think about that.
What did I do?
Smiled.
My peacock had a chance. Anything that has the guts to fight like that after what he had been through has a real chance to make it. I am sure it will not be easy. I am sure there are rough days and nights ahead, but I have some hope we can make it through.
How did I know that? He fought me and injured me. He has the will to live – the survival instinct.
In the past three days, nothing has made me happier in his care than to have him fight me. It made my day.
So, I will close, knowing that you understand. May we all look at our children of complex trauma in a new light today. Let us not be discouraged when, in their pain, they fight our healing efforts. Instead of becoming
downhearted, let us take strength from our child’s survival instinct. It may be the very thing that gives us a healing chance.
From my peacock, I learned that the will to fight is a turning point in the life of something that could have – even should have – been left for dead. I felt the love in my heart for something that others thought wasn’t worth saving.
But, best of all, after my hours of care and seeming failures, I found hope in the joy of seeing the fight in one of the most beautiful creatures to grace my farm. Because, in that moment, I found his will to live and my will to go
on.
May we all find that for ourselves and our children.
Added note:
Just one day later, my sweet peacock let me touch his eye, but not without one more huge fight to the finish. He left this world in grace and beauty, in my arms. I will never forget that, before he let me touch his eye, he
profoundly touched my heart.
spent all those years at the university and it is my farm animals that teach me
everything I need to know about raising a child who has been through complex
trauma. But, I digress.
Here’s the scoop – warning this is somewhat graphic. However, due to what
you all deal with on a daily basis, this probably isn’t too graphic for any of
you.
But, my dear peacock, that I have raised for years (since he was a little
peachick) got attacked by a dog. My dog, at that. We have several dogs that
guard and protect, but this new one was a puppy and decided to tease the birds.
Since the birds are trusting of my dogs, this poor peacock didn’t know what was
coming when Bear, a four month old puppy, came running at him. Anyway, Bear
grabbed the peacock by the neck and totally tore off the skin and feathers. I
mean totally. His neck looks like the neck of your prebaked thanksgiving
turkey, only without as much flesh covering it. Terrible, terrible injury.
Fortunately, since Bear was likely playing, he did not eat or kill the peacock,
but left it for dead.
My son, Luke, found the peacock in the yard. When he brought it in, he knew we could not save it. Luke and I have saved many farm animals in the past. I have given a goat an emergency c-section, I have performed surgery on goats who have had gashes, I have done lots of things no one would ever believe. I even once had a mini donkey with birth defects sleep in my room (after my husband went to sleep and returned it to outside before he knew). Tens of baby goats have been revived in my house. But, this peacock was a goner from the start.
Before people ask why I don’t take all these animals to the vet, I will tell you. They are family. And, in a rural community everything has value based on what it can do or what you can do with it. So, when you call about a $30 goat, the farm vet will tell you that it’s just not worth it. The amount of money you would put into fixing the goat is more than the goat is worth. In a farming community, people have a hard time understanding farm animals as family. They are a utility. So if the animal is not worth the vet bill, they don’t bother.
With that, I knew that this peacock was likely not going to make it, but you don’t give up on family. So, I cleansed the whole neck, put antibiotics on it, wrapped it carefully and propped him with pillows in my office. He could not
move; he looked dead. Really dead. But, if you looked closely, you could see breathing.
Fortunately, the neck is very strong on a peacock and is hard to break. I could not tell if he could move his feet. He was definitely as close to dead as you can be without being dead.
The next day, I tried to get him to sip water. Nope. I about pulled out my glock and put him down. I won’t save an animal if it appears futile and it appears that all I am doing is prolonging suffering. But, I couldn’t do it. As
I moved his neck for him to see if he’d drink, he moved one of his legs. I knew then that he wasn’t paralyzed. I squirted water with honey in his mouth, but it didn’t look like he could even swallow. I decided to see what he looked like in the morning.
In the morning, he looked dead still. I had to put my finger by his eye to see if he blinked. My husband taught me that farm sign of dead. An animal that won’t blink when you go to the eye is definitely fairly dead. Well, my peacock let me touch his eye, but he did blink.
I tried to give him more water knowing he would be dead shortly without water. I squirted a bit in and he did swallow. Progress. Small progress but progress.
Then, last night, I decided that I had to do all I could or put him down. I made a stomach tube, threaded it down his throat and started syringing water down his throat. Unfortunately, his throat was so swollen that most the water
came back up and almost drowned him. Two steps forward, four steps back.
This morning, which I was sure was his last, I went back in. I tried to pick up the syringe to put water in his mouth and he moved his legs back. I realized he did not want that stupid syringe again. Some feistiness, I like that.
So, I go to the farm store and get real stomach tube supplies. I come home and mix up some electrolytes and thread the stomach tube down. It goes down much easier this time. I put 60 ccs of electrolytes in him and none came back – wooo hooo!
When I went to put my peacock down, he begun flapping his wings and scratched me hard with his talons.
Think about that. He violently flapped his wings and left me with two big ole cuts on my hand from his talons.
Really think about that.
What did I do?
Smiled.
My peacock had a chance. Anything that has the guts to fight like that after what he had been through has a real chance to make it. I am sure it will not be easy. I am sure there are rough days and nights ahead, but I have some hope we can make it through.
How did I know that? He fought me and injured me. He has the will to live – the survival instinct.
In the past three days, nothing has made me happier in his care than to have him fight me. It made my day.
So, I will close, knowing that you understand. May we all look at our children of complex trauma in a new light today. Let us not be discouraged when, in their pain, they fight our healing efforts. Instead of becoming
downhearted, let us take strength from our child’s survival instinct. It may be the very thing that gives us a healing chance.
From my peacock, I learned that the will to fight is a turning point in the life of something that could have – even should have – been left for dead. I felt the love in my heart for something that others thought wasn’t worth saving.
But, best of all, after my hours of care and seeming failures, I found hope in the joy of seeing the fight in one of the most beautiful creatures to grace my farm. Because, in that moment, I found his will to live and my will to go
on.
May we all find that for ourselves and our children.
Added note:
Just one day later, my sweet peacock let me touch his eye, but not without one more huge fight to the finish. He left this world in grace and beauty, in my arms. I will never forget that, before he let me touch his eye, he
profoundly touched my heart.