Our peacock is back!

Tonight David and I were comfortably enjoying our gin martinis at the spot in our backyard we call martini point -- Adirondack chairs in the shade of a live oak tree (currently full of blooming orchids) with a spectacular view of the Middle River.

We were chatting about the sad sad state of the newspaper biz.

Then we heard it: Mraww! Mraaaw!

Unmistakably, Mr. Bird. And even better, at close range.

We would have run out to see where he was, except we still had one-third of a chilled martini with olives in our hands.

We figured: Five or eight minutes more won't hurt.

Nursing the last sip, we caught sight of him: Mr. Bird, walking casually through Sophia's backyard, handsome and healthy.

Within moments, Sophia was out there too, looking triumphant.

I'm not precisely sure what happened, but here's what I do know:

During the day today, I had at least four phone calls from Ann, the woman whose house Mr. Bird decided to make his new residence last night. She reported that Mr. Bird was "resting comfortably." That he had eaten some flowers. That they had put out water for him.

In the afternoon, Ann called to say that another neighbor, Laurie, who works at a vet's office, was quite comfortable handling big wild birds and was willing to catch and move him.

At first I balked. Would he be hurt? Should we intervene?

But Ann argued that her neighborhood has loose dogs and fast cars. Mr. Bird had thrived on our block for so long. Isn't that where he belonged?

I told Laurie: Go for it. Get our bird and bring him back.

So I assume that's what happened.

We're worried he's still searching for his friends. We're concerned he might wander again, and we'll have to decide whether to intervene again.

But, for now, we are celebrating that he is back.

We hope to see his nightly ritual of hopping onto our porch swing and then awakening us with ear-splitting shrieks.

Welcome home, Mr. Bird.