Yet Horace did not think its flesh equal to an ordinary chicken.

He wrote: I shall ne'er prevail To make our men of taste a pullet choose, And the gay peacock with its train refuse.
For the rare bird at mighty price is sold, And lo! What wonders from its tail unfold! But can these whims a higher gusto raise Unless you eat the plumage that you praise?
Or do its glories when 'tis boiled remain?
No; 'tis the unequaled beauty of its train, Deludes your eye and charms you to the feast, For hens and peacocks are alike in taste.
Then peacocks have been made useful in a medicinal way.

The doctors once prescribed peacock broth for pleurisy, peacocks' tongues for epilepsy, peacocks' fat for colic, peacocks' galls for weak eyes, peahens' eggs for gout.
It is always darkest just before dawn, and only a week from that humiliating Sunday episode I was called by my gardener to look at the dearest little brown something that was darting about in the poultry yard.

It was a baby peacock, only one day old.

He got out of the nest in some way, and preferred to take care of himself.