This morning, as I drove Iz to school, I noticed a large brown lump in my neighbor’s yard. I wasn’t wearing my glasses, so a large brown lump it was; at first, I thought it was a tree stump. As I turned the corner and got closer to the lump, I remember thinking, “When did Connie cut down a tree? Wait a minute. There was never a tree there!”
I slowed down, and then I stopped the car, quite amazed by what I saw sitting there. Iz noticing the lump, too, asked, “Is that an owl?” I said, “No. Oh, my gosh!”
There in the corner of Connie’s yard was a huge hawk. I had only ever them flying high above me. I certainly had never seen one up close let alone one parked in someone’s yard like it was a pink flamingo or a gnome.
Iz asked, “What’s it doing there?” I said, “I have no idea.” Iz, the consumate and compassionate animal whisperer, asked, “Do you think it’s hurt?”
I told her I wasn’t sure. I had to get her to school, so I drove off. I told her that when I got home, I’d give the hawk a closer look.
A voice then asked, “You will? How close?!?!” I remember many years ago, one of my cats attacked a bird. I think it was a robin, and I carted it off to Tufts the next day to see if they could save it. They couldn’t, and I was upset with my cat for the rest of the week, though it was what cats did, but I felt I could still be upset with my cat about it.
I was then thinking that if it was hurt, who would I call? My vet? The Audubon Society? Tony Hawk? I knew how to fix cats and dogs; the only birds I knew were chicken or turkey, and, alas, I had eaten all of them.
After I dropped Iz off, I drove home hoping the hawk would be gone. As I approached Connie’s yard, he was still sitting there like a lawn ornament, a very handsome and classy lawn ornament though. I pulled over to the side of the street, parked my car, and went over to Connie’s yard to take a closer look.
I approached slowly and was probably on tippy toes feeling like rule number one of Hawk Whispering was "approach softly but don’t be carrying a big stick." He stared intently at me as I got closer. I then wondered if this was some kind of hawk ploy and that I was walking right into a Tippi Hendren trap.
I thought at any minute that he might fly away likewise intimidated by the tall birdwatcher or most likely laughing at Tippi Toes Hendren approaching. He stood his ground, which from 10 feet away looked like an old gray tree root protruding from the ground. When I was 5 feet away, I realized that the gray tree root was a dead squirrel.
Just then, I figured it out; he had killed the squirrel and was now contemplating his meal. I got a little closer. He was huge, and I was struck by how lovely he was; I could have stood there the whole morning and just looked at him, his beautiful black beak, piercing eyes, and the tan and brown feathers that almost made him look spotted.
I didn’t really know what to do. He appeared to be fine. Not knowing hawks like I know cats (but does anyone ever really know cats?!), I figured that perhaps it was tough flying with something as big as a squirrel in your beak. Instead of take-out-into-the-air this morning, he was dining-in-Connie’s-yard.
He looked at me, and as if to show me his intentions, he made one quick peck at the poor squirrel. I said, “Okay. I understand. I’m like the waitress who’s come to ask you how your meal is when your mouth is full.” I will leave you now, though before I left, I took one long last look at him; he had to be one of the most lovely sights I'd seen in a while.
As I walked back to my car, I heard a window open in the house across from Connie’s. My neighbor, Kim, stuck her head out the window and asked, “Is that a hawk, Jean?!” I said that it was, and then she said, “Oh, wow. I just thought it was a big cat.”
(By the way, this photo of Liam proves that cats can look like large birds. Liam's on the left. Oops! See what I mean? Liam's on the right.)
When I got home, I opened the front door, and, ironically, Liam greeted me. I said, “I just saw your bird doppelganger!” Liam didn’t seem too impressed, and instead of gathering my laptop and purse, I wanted to go back and watch the hawk.
I had looked at paintings in museums and had seen beauty. I had looked at my John Fluevog shoes and had seen beauty. I had looked into my daughter’s eyes, her beautiful brown tiger eyes, and had seen beauty. Beauty's where you find it; however, I never thought I would find it in someone's yard.
I had been feeling a little “bah humbug” lately. As I drove to work, I couldn’t help but turn up the Waitresses’ Christmas Wrapping when it came on the radio. Today, I had looked at a hawk and had seen beauty, the kind of beauty that would always lift a low spirit. ♥
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