I heard these firm words this morning, as George stood looking out the kitchen window. I know when George says this, firmly and quietly, that something amazing is happening in the back yard. Sometimes it is a herd of wild turkeys, one time a huge pregnant raccoon drinking out of the birdbath in broad daylight. Today, I went to the window to look and there was a hawk sitting on the lawn pulling feathers out of an ex-pigeon.
We have been bothered by the pigeons that are coming to eat out of the bird feeder. They line up on the roof and do their pigeon things up there, and we don't want them. They are messy, and look ridiculous trying to hang on to the finch feeder, sometimes four deep, twirling and unbalanced where they do not belong. We asked them to go back to Boston Common, but they don't listen. George sometimes resorts to throwing a pail, or garden tool, or whatever is at hand. I bang on the upstairs bathroom window with a can of hairspray. Well, today I think they are listening. It was unnaturally calm for a while this morning. In fact, there were no birds anywhere for awhile. Seeing a predator will do that to a fella.
This is the second pile of feathers we have found on our lawn. We thought a cat had caught a bird. Now we know who the real hero is. A beautiful, brown, and magestic hawk. And it isn't some hapless bird, but a pigeon as big as a small chicken. You go Mr. Hawk.
Have a great day.
