The other week, driving through the neighborhood to visit Elvis – our resident peacock – Hania and I were surprised to find a new peacock on Elvis’s street. We knew it wasn’t Elvis, who was nowhere in sight, because he had a scraggly tail.
A neighbor appeared, and we all agreed Elvis’s new friend needed a name. The woman suggested Presley, which I wasn’t crazy about. It wasn’t a first name, and it suggested blood relations.
As we drove home, I tried to think of singers from the Elvis era who were known by one name. Donovan was too long. Deano was too obscure for anyone under 60 (but a good name for a peacock). Dylan could work as a first name, but it didn’t seem to fit. Finally, I came up with Freddie. Freddie Mercury came after Elvis, but the new bird kinda looked like a Freddie.
Then the other day, driving down Peacock Street (not its official name), we ran into a resident sitting in a lawn chair. We asked if he’d seen the new peacock. “You mean Elton?” he asked.
