27/4/2018 Trees(tm): now, due to popular demand, available in Rainbow Swirl!
We have an official appointment to import the poultry May 1st! Hooray!
Since I was a child, I have studied for this day. Specifically, I have listened to my mother's stories of that time when she was hauling a Horse Trailer Full Of Very Fancy Birds across the United States, and stopped for the night at a small motel in Oklahoma. At about 3 AM, the peacocks decided it was time for a command performance of Concerto For Clown Horns In D Sharp Minor.
(For those of you who have never heard a peacock, perhaps this will help: the official scientific term for this particular noise is actually "bu-girk", though "bu-GIRK" would be a little more accurate. Seriously. Here's a citation. Very Serious Ethologists studying peacocks find the noise so enirely bu-girkful it could not possibly be called anything else. People have to present at conferences and put graphs on the screen and say things like "As you can see here, the frequency of bu-girks..." while trying to keep a straight face.)
A fellow motel guest inexplicably decided some sort of crime was being committed in the Trailer of Clown Horns and called the police to put a stop to it. My mother, exhausted and used to Honks, did not awaken, which is how some police showed up, equally inexplicably agreed that that was definitely a Trailer Full Of Honks And Crime If I've Ever Seen One, and unleashed a flock of cranky thousand-eyed honk-demons on a motel in Oklahoma at 3AM.
So, this is my destiny, handed down through the generations. I was born for this: to cram some fancybirds in a station wagon and drive them across an international border.
I am a Peacock-Ferryer, from a long line of Peacock-Ferryers, and before I go to fulfill the destiny I for which I was made, I leave you this wisdom:
Don't take the Honk to Oklahoma. Oklahoma can't handle the Honk.