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.
