Publisher’s Notebook:

Crying Fowl: Peacocks Prevail in Malibu

BY ANNE SOBLE

I thought I might have struck a nerve when the phone rang and one of our favorite sources in the Los Angeles County District Attorney’s office said that it wasn’t fair when I said that the DA’s office deserves credit for saving Malibu from peacocks when compared to real noise complaints, such as motorcycles, sports cars and leaf blowers and some of the other things I’d like to see crated and taken away. The DA legal eagles have now determined that they may not have jurisdiction after all, and given the number of phone calls and emails they have received since the Malibu Surfside News story last week, might not want jurisdiction, even if it exists. Ditto with the county Department of Animal Care and Control people who may never have checked with the Carson Shelter in Gardena that’s responsible for the feral peafowl that freely roam Palos Verdes Estates, courtesy of the state appellate court.

This foray into bureaucratic blundering ranks so far below the successful Cabrillo Port LNG defeat in importance that it falls off the radar screen, but as small-town publishers know all too well, issues such as the wild peafowl can elicit more public response than major public policy matters. I finally had to say, “No more pro-peacock letters to the editor” and stop taking calls about the petition drive to save the feral birds. Still, there’s no denying the pleasure in the realization that some of the original spirit that drew so many to Malibu before our properties became worth millions of dollars and residents started to complain about the presence of coyotes, mountains lions, rattlesnakes and peacocks, hangs on. There are forces that will rally when pushed, and though they may remain quiet most of time and let the media define a Malibu populated by narcissistic, rehabbing dilettantes, when a headline resonates with them, they will come out fighting.

Heck, I don’t even especially like peacocks. My solo experience with them was to set up several in a fancy avian compound that they decided to fly out of and become a gourmet meal for my malamutes. Somehow, saying “bad dogs” seemed pointless because the birds were obviously tasty. But I revel in those who support all things wild and free and hope these folks are there when the next assault on wildlife takes place. They’re my Malibu.