Took a phone call this morning from Mrs. Next Door. “Oh come quick, there’s a horrible little hawk thing in our place eating a brown bird with a yellow face. I think the brown bird’s still alive. Ooh, it’s awful, come quick. Should I sic the dog on it?”
“No,” I advised, “that hawk could attack your dog, They’re very partial to golden Labradors, particularly the fat dopey kind.
“You’re a nasty man, but come quick.”
I found Dilbert the dog safe and sound asleep just inside the front door where everyone could trip over him.
In a secluded spot in the backyard action was moving along more rapidly. A Collared Sparrowhawk perched on a log plucking a Common Myna that appeared about as dead as it could get. A 30-minute Q and A session ensued, including questions like, “Can’t the government do something about these hawks ?” [!] and the hoary old perennial, “What’s the best bird book to get?”
Anyhow, my pique was assuaged by good coffee and freshly made lamingtons, I managed to down six before she withdrew them. Apparently she’d made them for her card party this afternoon. Looks like some cardsharp chic will go without a sugar fix. J
John Layton
Holt.
