The first thing I did this morning was look for the peahen.
It starts under the guise of opening up the house to run the whole-house fan, but when she's not in her regular spot on our back patio, I venture outside. I look near our Japanese garden, where the kids say they saw her yesterday and then behind the thorn-less blackberry bush - a perfect hiding spot for such a large bird. No luck.
I look in the American Linden, the only tree in our backyard large enough for a roosting peahen. Not there. I scan the roof line of our rare single-story abode nestled in the Sacramento suburbs and that of the two-story mammoth next door. She's not there either.
So I ask my son, who's always the first person up in our house, "Have you seen the peahen?" He says he hasn't, but I can tell he didn't even look for her when he got up this morning. Why does this annoy me? She's not even our peahen.
I open a window (got to get that fan on) and in the process decide to look one more place - the front porch where we first found her. Again, I'm disappointed. No peahen.
In my pajamas I venture a few steps down the walkway to peer again at the neighbor's house - and there she is! On top of the second story, where I had looked only moments before!
She stands like a sentinel, pacing back-and-forth along the gutters looking intently at our backyard.
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