The young hawk was walking along
the paver path in front of our family room – stalking prey like an
inexperienced, two-legged feline with balance issues. Mars had seen the descent of brown feathers,
went to investigate, and called me to watch.
The following performance took about three minutes.
We
noticed the activity in our quince bush several seconds before it caught the
hawk’s eye – rustling branches being the only visible sign of occupancy in the
thick, thorny shrub. Just like in a
not-too-clever television police procedural the predatory bird worked its way
around to the front, and the small flock of sparrows and finches hurriedly
exited from the rear. Apparently alerted by the motion behind it the hawk
hurried around back – but too late. As it
was standing there puzzling over what to do next one of our gray squirrels came
rushing onto the walkway, totally oblivious as to what was ahead of it.
They
both became aware of each other at the same instant – the squirrel skidded to a
halt, the harrier hopped back in startled horror. Then the tree rat scurried into the
protective arms of the quince, and the hawk assumed a guard position along the
north side of the plant. But he
evidently forgot what he was waiting for because when the squirrel rushed out in
the bird’s direction the fierce predator once again jumped in fright and flew
off to one of the many utility wires that border our property. And the squirrel continued in a northwesterly
direction across our lawn and up the trunk of an oak tree within fifteen feet
of the perching peregrine.
A
moment later the bird of prey took flight, and has not been seen since then in
our area. To paraphrase Elizabeth Shue’s
character in the 1987 comedy movie Adventures in Babysitting, “Don't f*** with
the squirrels.”
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