One day there was much activity on the farm, people coming and going, new things brought to the farm house. "Maybe the farmer is planning a farmer family," thought Crow as he watched all the people scurrying about. Most animals were scared by the activity, but the crows, they picked what they wanted from the garden while the farmer was busy.

The next day, Crow noticed changes on the farm. There were more chickens in the yard, and a fat, lazy cat sunned on a fence post, and the farmer seemed late to his chores. Crow was about to check the cornfield for a snack when suddenly, from around the corner of the farm house strolled something he'd never seen before. Large, with long feathers in colors Crow didn't even have names for, they strutted. Heads high, they stepped lightly around the farmyard. No chicken-scratching bugs for these birds. They turned with their backs to the sun and spread their tailfeathers to catch the light.

Crow wanted to fly to them, to speak to them, to see them up close - but they were so beautiful he was almost afraid to approach them. How magnificent they were with their colors and their walk! Finally, summonning his Crow courage, he dropped from the tree branch to the farm yard. Timidly, he asked the regal-looking birds what they were, and felt suddenly ashamed of his cawing, croaking voice.

"We're peacocks," one of them replied. The gaudy bird spread its tail, strutted into the shade, then screamed, as peacocks do.

Crow nearly fainted. 'What a heavenly voice!' he thought. Instinctively, he made a slight bow, then jumped into the air and sailed back to woods without another word.

Crow could not forget the peacocks. 'What fine feathers!', the thought. 'They must be so happy, being so beautiful.' He gazed sadly at his own colorless plumes. 'And those voices!' The splendour of the peacocks seemed always on his mind. And, sadly, so was what he saw as his own plainness. He stopped looking at himself in the pond water, neglected to preen his feathers, gave up sitting and singing on the fence with the other crows. It was all so depressing that he wasn't sitting with the peacocks! He began to spy on them, watching them strut, listening dreamily to their screams, becoming more envious of their beauty.

One day, hiding in a tree to watch them strut, he saw one of the peacocks lose a feather - and not even notice! Crow could barely contain himself. When the sun went down, he swooped down from the branch, picked it up, and hid it away. From then on, every day, he watched the peacocks. When they dropped a feather, he was there to snatch it up.

When he had four saved, he could wait no longer. He pinched some sap from a pine tree, then used the gooey sap to stick the peacock feathers onto his own tail. Then he flew to the tree where the other crows were singing from a branch. But instead of sitting on a branch with the others, Crow paraded around on the ground, his four glued on tail feathers dragging along behind. Every few steps he would jerk forward, trying to make the tail feathers stand up. They didn't.

The other crows grew quiet. Then one of them caw-ed down, "What in the world are you doing?"

"I thought I'd show you my gorgeous new tail," Crow answered. "I grew tired of being ugly and drab. So I decided I would show my true self and sport some prettier colors." Then Crow threw back his head and let out a screaching, scratching, ear-assaulting croak; he thought it would sound like a peacock scream. It didn't.

Now, crows may not be showy, but they have a sense of humor like no other bird. And a tree full of crows laughing hysterically is a sound like no other on earth. Crows laughed so hard they fell out of tree. And some made things worse by bowing to Crow and pretending he was their king. Crow was hurt and angry.

"You filthy, moth-eaten old buzzards! You just sit in your tree and screech! I'll find a place where my new beauty is appreciated. I'll not hang around ugly, common jackdaws like you!"

The crows' amusement quickly changed to anger and indignation. "Go on, then!" "Ugly are we?" "Moth-eaten?" "Jackdaws?" "Buzzards?" "Go on, you with your showy feathers," they jeered. "You could cover yourself in stolen feathers 'til you're as big as a turkey," one of them called down, "and you still won't be nothing but a crow!"

"You're ugly and silly," Crow called back to them. Then he walked away from the tree, his pretty new tail feathers dragging behind, the laughter and angry shouts of the crows following him. "And mean, too," he said to himself. "I know where I'll be accepted."

It took longer than he'd guessed to hike to the farm. He'd never walked so far before, but if he was going to be a peacock, he would learn.

When the peacocks spotted Crow, they thought he was a peacock who had lost most of his feathers. They weren't very bright, but he was one of their own, they thought. They rushed up Crow and stroked his dusty, dark feathers. "Poor thing," they said, "poor thing. You come stay here at this farm. The humans here are very good to us. Poor thing."

Oh, but didn't Crow puff up from this! He didn't understand how they knew he' been abused by the crows, but somehow they must since they were being so nice. 'I'm finally home,' he thought. 'I'm finally with birds who understand me.' He was so excited he threw his head back and gave one of the grating, screeches he thought sounded like a peacock scream.

The peacocks retreated a step in horror. "What was that noise?" they asked.

"A peacock song," Crow explained happily. "I know it doesn't sound as good as yours, but I'm only starting. A little practice, and soon I'll sound just like you."

"Practice?" "Just starting?" The poor simple birds were confused. "So, you're not a peacock, then?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes! I'm a peacock. I'm one of you. It's just, well, it's just that I started as a crow."

"Crow?" "Crow!" The furious peacocks ran around in circles, waving their feathers in agitation. "Crow?" They pecked the stolen feathers off Crow, and beat at him with their wings. "Crow!" they cried. They chased Crow away from the farm until he spread his black wings and flew. "Crow!" they called at his back. "Crow!"

Crow flew back to his tree, back to the woods full of crows. Sad and downcast, he scraped the tree sap from his tail feathers, then flew to the tree where the crows sang in the branches. No one spoke to him. They sang, they chattered, they gossiped - and they acted like he wasn't there.