The Chronicles of Major Peabody: The Questionable Adventures of a Wily Spendthrift, a Politically Incorrect Curmudgeon, an Unprincipled Wagerer and an Obsessive Bird Hunter. Galen Winter

      Major Nathaniel Peabody does not enjoy cocktail parties. During the years he served as a Military Attaché in various United States embassies, it was his duty to attend them. He was forced to hold a martini in his hand (without drinking it) for entire Saturday afternoons when he would have preferred to be in the field, hunting the local waterfowl and upland birds.

      Moreover, as he matured the Major developed a distaste (which eventually approached a loathing) for small talk that does not concern itself with dogs or shotguns. Peabody considers attending cocktail parties to be an activity only slightly less offensive than stealing pennies from the eyes of the dead.

      When he retired and established his residence in Philadelphia, Major Peabody immediately took a fancy to my fiancé. Though she is some thirty years his junior and, like me, definitely not the outdoor type, the lovely Stephanie charmed him. She is the only one who can induce him to attend a Main Line cocktail party and has done so on more than one occasion. And so, as a result of Stephanie’s cajoling, Major Peabody agreed to accompany us to such an affair.

      There are people in the suburbs surrounding Philadelphia who have deep commitments to (but little understanding of) the environment, animal rights and other “feel good” movements. Whenever a hostess informs her guests of the Major’s out-of-doors activities, he is, he says, confronted by aggressive women in flat heeled shoes and tweedy, delicate men who engage him in argument or attempt to secure his approval of some distasteful theory.

      Peabody regularly extracts himself from such situations by brutally ending all conversations. He has become an expert at it. For example, a lady author showed no interest in a then current newspaper headline about a woman who murdered her husband with an axe. She casually dismissed the story with the words “he probably drove her to it.” However, when someone mentioned how a Bryn Mawr man cut off his wife’s head, the woman went ballistic in her outrage.

      If the lady had directed equal anger toward the woman who murdered her husband, the Major would have remained silent. However, the lady’s selective outrage offended him. Peabody successfully terminated her diatribe with a single sentence. When he commented: “She probably was too tall, anyway,” silence occurred abruptly and the author and her coterie of sycophants slowly backed away.

      Peabody’s ploy to avoid what he considers to be ridiculous chatter has been remarkably effective. When a lady advocate of gun control gushed about the two fawns that regularly visited her back yard, the Major brightened up and offered to get a gun and shoot them both. In answer to the question: “Major Peabody, how can you shoot those beautiful pheasants?” he says: “I like to kill things.”

      On this occasion, the party was in full swing and the lovely Stephanie was mingling. I watched the Major as he stood alone, tried (unsuccessfully) not to appear to be bored and, at short intervals, looked at his wrist watch. I went to keep him company. Our hostess had the same purpose and we simultaneously arrived at his side.

      “You’re Major Peabody, aren’t you,” she began.

      “Guilty,” he answered

      “What a delight to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

      “Mmmmmm,” was his response.

      “You spend so much time communing with nature and with her wild creatures. I know you’re a hunter, but don’t you really believe animals merit our protection and should have rights, just as human beings have rights?”

      “I used to dismiss the Animal Rights people as purveyors of anthropomorphic, metaphysical nonsense,” the Major said and his hostess began to look alarmed. He continued: “At first, I was sure such people had undergone brain surgery and the surgeon didn’t put everything back, but now I have reason to re-visit that conclusion. There may be something to Animal Rights after all.”

      The hostess regained her composure and looked pleased. I couldn’t believe my ears. The Major was definitely not under the influence of single malt Scotch whisky. I could think of nothing else that might cause him to make such an uncharacteristic statement. Certainly anyone who knew him would have been stunned. I was so surprised I involuntarily exclaimed: “Oh?”

      “You seem surprised, my boy,” said the Major. “Can it be possible you consider me to be an unreconstructed realist, congenitally unable to give lip service to positions maintained by people who have never worn out a pair of boots in their entire lives and wouldn’t recognize Mother Nature if she knocked them down and sat on them.”

      “Yes,” I admitted, as our hostess again began to look disturbed.

      Peabody smiled at her and went on: “Please be assured,” he said to her, “not a single matter involving the environment and the out-of-doors escapes my attention and careful consideration. Take this matter of Animal Rights, for example. Our Founding Fathers declared all men to be created equal and endowed with certain inalienable rights, including life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The Animal Rights folks claim these constitutional guarantees should be extended not only to men, but also to women and other animals.”

      His statement was reassuring, but the last phrase did nothing to completely erase our hostess’ anxiety. The Major’s sincerity and his next words led her to volunteer another cautious smile.

      “I’m willing to wholeheartedly accept your suggestion to recognize Animal Rights”, Peabody said as he maneuvered her into a corner where she could not escape. “As much as I applaud your efforts,” the Major added, “I don’t believe Animal Rights advocates have addressed a matter that should concern us all. If animals are to have rights, they must also have responsibilities.” A look of uncertainty re-appeared on the hostess’ face.

      Major Peabody smiled at his hostess and said: “I have seen groups of your friends carrying signs and railing against Canadians who, in accordance with their government’s regulations, harvest seals. Polar Bears eat seals. I’ve seen no one carrying signs on the frozen tundra or picketing a Royal Canadian Mounted Police station, insisting they take Polar Bears into custody and prosecute them for murder and cannibalism.

      “Geese trespass on farmers’ posted fields. They steal corn and grain and fly off to protected sanctuaries where the Constable cannot serve them with papers hailing them into court and requiring them to defend themselves against charges of criminal trespass and felony theft. There is no attempt to make them pay civil damages for their depredations.

      “Moreover geese leave their calling cards on golf courses, in parks and on lawns surrounding waterways. If you were to perform their very same acts, the police would be after you in a minute. To my knowledge, not a single goose has ever been charged with indecent behavior or littering.

      “If a teacher gives some schoolboy a well deserved backhander, the School Board and the public at large call it Child Abuse and will have her hide. Female gorillas steal simian babies, fish eat fry, male black bear, if given a chance, will kill their young. Nevertheless, child abuse in the animal kingdom goes unpunished.

      “I believe in Equal Justice. I believe animal wrongdoers should be subject to the same fines and prison terms that are meted out to human criminals. If you are to have any credibility at all, your proposals to give rights to animals must contain provisions requiring the animals to assume responsibilities. You must provide for regulations to bring animal malefactors to justice.

      “I will happily volunteer to work with your Legislation Committee to draft appropriate terminology for an Animal Responsibility law. Please ask the committeepersons to tell me the dates and times of their next meetings