Prison does not suit the likes of Dink the peacock finds MINDY HAMMOND

As you may know, Dink was attacked by a fox some weeks ago when he was blown off the roof by the Beast from the East. He’d been recuperating in Chicken Woods while we waited for his wing to heal, but his new accommodation in a shed wasn’t ideal and he struggled to manoeuvre his enormous tail in a six-foot by four-foot space.

Despite being provided with enough food to feed a pen full of pheasants and a bowl of his favourite treats, Dink looked decidedly downbeat. A few days before we left for Tenerife, I noticed he’d dropped a few tail feathers. I worried he was becoming depressed and decided it was time to set him free.

I couldn’t leave a miserable peacock for our lovely house-sitting helpers to deal with – what if he went into a sudden decline? It would be a tremendous responsibility and if something went wrong on his first outing, everyone would feel so guilty.

I had to keep everything crossed that his wing had healed sufficiently for him to fly over the fencing and roost out of the fox’s reach. Dink was delighted to be set free and scratched around with the ducks and chickens for a while, had a chat with Princess, then set about pacing the fence line.

It was encouraging to watch – clearly he was planning his escape. I left him to his plans and carried on with my day, crossing my fingers that he would soon appear in the garden, having cleared the fence.

Unfortunately, at 5pm Dink was still pacing the enclosure and my heart sank. I would have to lock him back in the shed for safety.

I herded all his feathered friends into their various houses first before turning to Dink, who made it very clear he was categorically not going back into solitary confinement.

He turned on his best impression of Road Runner, dashing around the perimeter or anywhere else as long as it was as far away from the shed as possible.

After about an hour of cajoling, herding, coaxing with food and just calmly sitting on the ground and waiting for him to come to me, it was obvious that bird was not going in that shed. I would have to make him fly.

The peacock (as you may be aware) is not a bird best designed for flight. They have vertical lift and that’s about all. But they don’t take off in the manner of a jump jet – they need a bit of an angle (about 60 degrees).

Dink was clearly nervous about using his injured wing, but with a bit of encouragement he attempted flight, although he miscalculated and launched himself too close. He managed a six foot leap/flutter and landed back on the ground.

So near and yet so far. I fetched a horse blanket. He’d tried the wing and it worked – he simply needed to stop thinking about it and get his confidence back.

I steered him back a few feet from the fence before wafting the blanket behind him and shouting, “Go on Dink, you can do it.” To my delight, he took a few steps and leapt, spreading his wings.

There was a tense moment as he scrabbled to reach the horizontal top pole of the enclosure, but finally he made it. He was so pleased with himself he sat there for a while, preening himself. “Good boy,” I told him and quickly returned to the house to watch from the bedroom window.

Dusk was just beginning to fall and I needed to make sure he roosted somewhere safe. Sure enough, he made his way to the back door and his route on to the roof.

I held my breath as he stood looking up at the lowest crenellated wall. It was at least 12 foot high – a bigger problem than the fence. He stepped back, gazed at the two-foot-high well wall and hopped on to it.

I watched as he glanced from the roof of the rabbit hutch to the top of the wall – he was making calculations. This was a good sign but he was too big to land on the hutch in its position against the wall.

I ran downstairs – if I pulled it out he’d have a higher launch pad. But when I opened the back door, there was no sign of my beloved peacock.

Oh no. It was getting dark. If he had given up and gone back into the garden, how would I keep him safe?

Then I heard his unmistakable call and looked up. There was Dink, perched on the highest point of the roof, declaring his return.

The next day he was back to his old self and clearly bore me no malice for making him fly – he came when I called him and waited by the door for his bedtime snack. 

Dink hasn’t left the garden since his recovery, which is sad for the neighbours who enjoyed his visits, but perhaps he’ll venture out when he’s fully recovered. After about 20 years of residence and a near-death experience, I’m just relieved he’s feeling better and I can put my peacock-wrangling days behind me.