Watching Like a Hawk

By Jim Hagarty
2013

Tonight, while I was doing the dishes, I saw that a hawk had landed in our backyard. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The darned thing was as big a large hen. It seemed busy at something, and at first I thought it was trying to pull a worm out of the ground. Then I saw a flash of red and realized it was standing on top of something it had killed and was stripping it with its beak. I didn’t know what unfortunate creature had crossed this big bird’s path, but I assumed it was a mouse or mole.

It took the hawk more than half an hour to have his supper, and with every bite, it raised its head and looked around in case danger lurked. Finally, it flew away and it was awesome to see it go.

I went outside right away to gather up what was left of the creature so our cats and dog didn’t get into it later. I was surprised to see that the hawk’s meal had been a bird and it was not a small one. There were feathers everywhere and a little bit of the bird’s beak and eye socket. And there lie the bones – stripped so clean it was unbelievable. That was one hungry hawk. There was not one morsel of flesh left on those bones. It was like they had been scrubbed clean. There wasn’t even much blood left around. I gathered them all up and tossed them into the garbage.

It was really something to see. I took video and photos but the bird was too far away for me to get anything worthwhile.

We live in the city. It never occurred to me a hawk would land in an urban backyard. It is not as though our place backs onto a bush. It’s amazing to me how wildlife seems to be getting more comfortable with urban settings. A young deer went loping down our street a couple of years back. And a coyote was spotted early one morning next to city hall. Reports of bear sightings are getting more common.

Just when it seemed it was safe to go outside …

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.