I was sitting here at work. There’s a parking lot that I can see out my window. In the parking lot, is a seagull. Minding his own business.
On the edge of the parking lot, there’s a light pole. On top of the light pole, there’s a brown hawk. While I was checking out the hawk, he swooped down on the own-business-minding seagull and started ripping that jonathon a new livingston, if you catch my drift.
I suppose the noise was something awful, because this guy came over from a car lot and scared off the hawk, which took up residence on another light pole, hungrily eying the seagull – who, undertandably, was looking a little stunned but was still somewhat ambulatory. The guy threw a rock at the hawk which flew off. . .to another pole. The man, having satisfied his conscience, went back to the car lot.
Of course, when the man left, the hawk started in on the seagull again. Now, round two moved behind an obstruction and that’s where my account ends, but I think it’s safe to say that March 2nd was that seagull’s last day on earth.
My backyard borders a roughly 12 acre piece of farmland. Of course, it’s moxed down and tilled or whatever that is when farm people turn the soil over in the fall.
The other week, I sat and watched a fox chasing something around back there for about 10 minutes before there was a flurry of dirt, then nothing. I’m guessing there’s one less rabbit or squirrel in the field now.
When I worked in downtown Saint Paul, I used to watch the local Peregrine Falcons take out pigeons in midflight. They’d circle, circle, circle, and than Zoom! Poof! The place I’d go to eat was right below the nest, twenty or so floors up above the entrance. And I’d always see beaks and legs and things on the sidewalk. They would throw their refuse out of the nest I guess.
I have a Jack Russel Terrier. He’s not your usual JRT, which are sometimes nicknamed Jack Russel Terrorists because of their high-energy and stubborn demeanors. No, this little guy is as placid as an elderly cat. He spends the lion’s share of his time curled up on my lap. He’s one of those dogs which makes passersby go “Awww!”
I discovered about a week ago that a black, murderous heart beats beneath that sweet, gentle exterior. Lurking behind those soft brown eyes is a soul as black as night.
I went out into the yard to bring him back in after his potty time. He was standing near the garage, in a strange sort of crouch. I called to him, but he ignored me. I went over to get him, and he swung around to face me. Out of his mouth dangled a tiny, twitching leg of some hapless rodent. Perhaps fearing I would take his prize from him, he gulped it down, and then went into sweet-dog mode. He lept into my arms and tried to nuzzle my neck. But I was not fooled. Mouse killer!
Mrs. Mouse is now widowed and her children will grow up without a father, likely to turn to drugs and premarital sex. Ohhh, my dog knows how to manipulate. He’ll pretend to be an adorable puppy, cuddling up to me and giving me adoring looks, but I now know he’s just waiting for a chance to kill again.
My rats have that same kind of we’re-sweet-and-cute-lookit-us-awww demeanor. They look up at everyone, all soft and roly-poly with little nose a-twitchin’ and sparkly eyes, and they seem to be saying, “I love you! Hi! How are you? I love you! Hi!”
Once I was bored and decided to give one of them (Cookie) one of the crickets I feed my lizards, just to see what she would do. I was half-expecting her to either ignore it or make friends with it as I offered it to her through the cage bars. Nope. She snatched that sucker and ripped his head off, then pushed the rest of it into her mouth, crunching delightedly.
Not even my lizards eat a cricket as violently as Cookie did.
Lissa: I hope you praised him. I’ve had 3 cats and 2 dogs. The best mouser I had was a sweet little silly pound puppy. She could out stalk and out pounce my cats. Every winter the cute little field mice would sneak into the house and my Dog and my 2 cats would go into exterminator role. So much better than any trap ever built. I will admit though that my wife preferred the cats because they would catch the mice live, so I could release them back into the wild.
I preferred my dogs methods. She ate them after showing off her prize.
Holy cow! There’s four now? It’s been a while since I worked in Saint Paul, but it was a big deal to have just one nesting at the trade center. Adapt or die I guess. I remember when it was neat to see a Canadian Goose.