He's a peacock, and he has set one little neighborhood in Holland on fire. He waddled his way onto Crescent Drive right before Memorial Day and took up residence in a tree on state Rep. Roy Reinard's front lawn. 

Since then, he's been photographed, videotaped and discussed in many a classroom in Holland Elementary right down the street. A parade of cars comes down Crescent at night, like a mini-safari, looking for the bird in his adopted suburban habitat. 

Calls to animal control have been futile (the agency can deal with only dogs, neighbors say). Efforts to find a possible owner have gone nowhere. And ever since the Philadelphia Zoo told a neighbor what peacocks should be fed (dry dog food, water, grapes and lettuce), Pedro has shown no intentions of leaving. 

"He's kind of cool," said homeowner Angela Beckman, the roof of whose silver Dodge Caravan has become one of the bird's favorite places to get some sun. "He's a very social bird." 

"The only problem is that every day at 4:45 a.m., he starts screaming," added Andy Beckman, her husband. 

"It sounds like this," added their 7-yearold son Andrew, who then made an unearthly caw-ing screech-like noise. `And sometimes he honks, too." 

The screeching is the only mentioned downside of having a resident peacock. 

Because the screech somewhat resembles a woman's scream, there has been at least one mistaken phone call to 911, according to Angela Beckman. On one occasion, an alarmed passerby pulled over and jumped out of his car, aiming to rescue a female in distress, she said. 

Peacocks are a part of the pheasant family and are native to Asia but can be kept successfully as pets in the United States. Only the males of the species have the distinctive fan of feathers (which Pedro hasn't opened many times since his arrival). 

If Pedro has lived in captivity his whole life, he probably doesn't have the skills needed to survive in the dangerous world of the subdivision, said Alison Wells, communications director for the ornithology lab at Cornell University. 

"It's probably doing its best to survive right now," Wells said. "A fox, a coyote, anything would love to get it. It might be hit by a car. It won't know what to do when something is coming at it at 40 mph." 

Pedro, however, has made it thus far, ambling across driveways, drinking  out of the bubbling creek that runs parallel to Crescent Drive and, in his spare time, helping to bring neighbors together. Beckman, for one, said she's met more of her neighbors since the peacock came along than she ever had before. 

Some neighbors have developed a theory: Being away from his dove-white rnate has made Pedro the peacock lovelorn. 

"1 think he's lonely for his missus," said Minnette Paul, a resident whose wooded back yard is one of his stomping grounds. 

The peacock, however, would not confirm or deny this. 

Pedro, so named for unknown reasons by a neighbor, has disappeared for a couple of days at a time before, and some of the residents know they might have to say goodbye someday. 

He is a bird, and all birds eventually take flight ... um, unless they are peacocks, which can't fly. 

"He struts across my lawn and takes his time," Paul said. "He adds a lot to the neighborhood. He's quite beautiful. We're hoping against hope that a big animal doesn't hurt it."