The Thanksgiving Fiasco, the Hosts and Guest from HELL or ( Photos of Cooper's Hawk and Avian Prey Not For the Sensitive.), the Collision of Diametrically Opposed Universes Shatters Worlds

Let me make it clear, this is not what I saw when I very mistakenly called out to the family in which I had been invited as a guest for Thanksgiving, "There's a hawk in the tree! ", but rather-

What I saw was more similar to this though at first the prey was hidden beyond the twigs and under the hawks talons.  I stood still so as not to flush the hawk with any quick movement.  Whereas the others being beyond the view of  the window could rapidly get my camera out of the bag etc,  while I stood stock still and slowly reached my arm out  to be handed my camera.  

Now perhaps if I'd known that the hawk had nabbed a woodpecker, possibly out of the feeder directly in front of the window.  A feeder in which no cover whatsoever was provided for the feeding quests or even allowed in this circumspectly shaved and trimmed yard typical of Wisconsin even though this was like putting up a sign, PLEASE EAT THESE BIRDS, to any predators including the farm cats that live in the barn behind the house.... 

A caveat: As I put up feeders, a rather unnatural arrangement, which offers little or no natural cover for the feeding birds,  I go to great lengths to try and make the feeding area as safe as I can  for the birds at the feeder as hey, yes I'm feeding them but I'm feeding them so I can watch them at my convenience therefore I owe them. 

But as usual I was so focused about seeing a hawk and so programmed to share,  likely nothing would have made a bit of difference to my commentary.

When a raptor makes an appearance, I go automatically into Hawk Bench Mode and I share the information with the world. 

 It's a New York City mode,  the folks on the Bench want to know.  Plus the more eyes focused on our collective interest of the moment, the bigger chance of tracking the current focus of our attention as time goes on, right?   And as everyone is looking at SOMETHING the passers-by,  utter strangers, most often want to know what is going on too. And let me add, they are utterly delighted to have  a hawk pointed out for them in the middle of New York City.

This has been my universe.

I had completely utterly forgotten I was in a completely other universe.

If only I'd kept my mouth shut.

I say, " Oh, I think she got a Woodpecker."  This isn't something I'm dying to see, you understand,  but I don't want the Accipiter to go hungry and they eat  birds. According to the research, the majority of birds taken are injured or ill or elderly. It supposedly helps keep the flock healthy. But I'd ever so much rather she'd have taken a Starling or other exotic of which there are horrid hordes... but nature is nature.

Then the hawk begins to wiggle the prey, and a Thanksgiving family son in his 50's who obviously is not familiar with the urges of young hawks, in that they can tend toward, it was so great killing it the first time, I'll kill it a second time, behavior.  Which our Accipiter then goes through the motions of  doing.

The hawk leaps on the prey again.

The son once again says, "It's moving!!"  

His eighty-five year old mother, cries out angrily, "It's killing MY woodpecker!!!!"

I try to say calmly, "No, the woodpecker is dead. It is too late to try and save it.  The hawk is moving it."

I do not say, That isn't your woodpecker, she was a free bird, with her own life, and  her own choices.  She made the decision to come to your feeder.  No one owned her.  She was free!

Mom then asks, "Are they protected?"

I'm getting a very bad feeling about this,.  I say quietly, "They're protected."

My friend, a wife of one of the brothers, says nothing.

Mom says loudly, "I don't care if they are protected or not, GET THE GUN!"

I think,   I can't really be hearing this.  GET THE GUN?

My brain has frozen...This is a federally protected bird...  Protected since 1918 by the International Migratory Bird Treaty... You just can't go around shooting them!  Well evidentally they can...

This is going to be BAD.  VERY BAD.

I've got to get the hawk to fly without making the situation any socially worse.   Could this Thanksgiving possibly be any more excruciating?

I'm their guest from hell.

On the other hand they are my ultimate hosts from hell, and if this hawk gets shot, I'll never forgive myself.  Do I threaten to turn them into the Feds?  Obviously reason isn't going to be working here.

Sharpie has acquired immediate varmint status, and nobody is going to be asking anybody for a permit, which they likely wouldn't get anyway, it's a BIRD FEEDER issue, not the slaughter of the all the farms chickens....  Which they don't raise anyway.  In fact they rent  their land to commercial enterprises to crop,  there is no livestock whatsoever on this farm.

All this amazing crap whirls through my head in about 2 seconds.  There has been enough ruckus for the Sharpie's attention to be drawn to the house.

But she still isn't moving.  Finally she takes off towards the east.  I run for the back door.

Sure enough Dad is in the mud room loading  the gun.

Oh God.  What do I do?

 I don't pause I just run past Dad and head out into Wisconsin winter in my shirtsleeves and don't even notice.

Where is she, where is she?

If they shoot her I'll never forgive myself.  I'll have to report them or they'll just keep doing it. They can't afford it. 

Ugly, All utterly ugly.  What do I do to stop this?

WHERE IS SHE???  

I'm so hoping she is gone so there doesn't have to be a confrontation.  Talk about bad manners.

But no, there she sits right there in a tree in the back yard.  NO!

The brother who said the woodpecker was moving, appears with the gun.  He starts to take aim.

I am between the hawk and the gun but she is far above my head and can easily be shot over my head.

There is nothing to be done.  I turn square towards him,  plant all of 5 feet and 100 pounds of me and say in my best potent Shakespeare voice, DO NOT SHOOT THE BIRD.

He is completely full of adrenalin and isn't into be interrupted at all.

He responds loudly and confused, "WHAT?"

I hold my ground and say again, "DO NOT SHOOT THE BIRD."

He sputters and bounces the gun, says things but I'm too far gone to make sense of any of it or even remember it.

For whatever reason, I say, "Well if you're going to be angry, I can just go home."

I have no idea why.

He sputters, turns around, and goes into the house.  

I totter towards the hawk without even taking a picture of her in her current perch.  I know I have to get her out of here but I'm feeling really shaky legged.  I keep coming and  she finally takes off.  

The woodpecker is heavy for her.

She flies with the typical flap, flap, soar,  of  the Accipiter.

Keep flying.  Keep flying. 

 Then she turns to the NE.  I will her not to land on the power poles.  Keep flying out of sight.  Keep flying.

I  turn around, walk  towards the barn, and hide. 

What happened?  What?  I'm the company and I implied he wasn't being nice to the company?

Just as  I had had no idea anyone would shoot a hawk right in front of me, as matter of factly as buttering a roll.

 They had no idea I would mind if they did.

Different universes.

And as I hadn't driven myself and therefore had no car to escape in, eventually I went back in the house and took pictures of everyone gathered at the Thanksgiving table.

Then we played Turkey Track Dominoes, which I 'd never played before.  In fact I'd never played any games that used dominoes.  In a blur, I won by hundreds of points.  It embarrassed me.

Then time for the obligatory offer of leftovers.  And during  that shuffle, the Mom looked at me with tears in her eyes, and said, "Wouldn't you be very sad if your Woodpecker died?"

I said, "I was very sad that the Woodpecker died.  But I'd also be very sad if I knew the hawk was starving."

Other voices swept over us.  Then I had my coat on, my cake carrier in hand, and was gone.

Different universes.

Donegal Browne

THE BIG SNOW and WHERE ARE ALL THE BIRDS?

The day before the big snow, I was keeping three dogs for friends who were out of town. I'd been distracted by the dogs so when I looked out and saw dozens of birds sitting on the wires in the back of the yard, staring at the back door, and waiting, even though it had gotten late for the afternoon seed I dropped everything and got it out there. The Big Snow was coming and they and I both knew they were going to need their meal before roosting.

Guilty, I put out a double helping.

And then it came, and came and came. The wind began to blow with vigor and the temperature plummeted to below zero.

The next day, I waited for the rush to the feeders but no one came, that I saw anyway. Was it the dogs? Needless to say the dogs didn't spend any longer than absolutely necessary outside and being of the very short legged variety they didn't do much running around even when they were out there. The snow was so deep they rather floundered around in it very briefly and then galumphed back inside. But still, no birds. No Doorstep Dove and Friend either I began taking the dogs out the front door, just in case they were an issue.

I stood staring out the backdoor. Where were they? Then whoosh, the Cooper's Hawk sailed across the yard and went that-a-way into the trees above.

Was she still out there somewhere? There was nobody in sight but the snow woman and her child staring into icy infinity.

Looking around, I realized the strange clunk I'd heard during the storm was the cracking of a limb off the Maple that thankfully it didn't make a direct hit on the roof with the stout section.

Where were the birds?

Ah, the sparrows were emerging from their snow covered stick pile. The Coop must be gone.

Silver watched as some juncos arrived.

And then there she was, Doorstep Dove, accompanied by Friend, peering in the door as the sparrows headed back to the pile and Silver got into a serious preening session.

The little birds returned but still Doorstep stared. At first I thought she was looking at me but she didn't do a head bob in my direction which is her usual behavior to me. I return the bob and she goes about her business. Was she looking at the parrot?

She then marched up and looked directly through the window, while Friend peered from the side. Seemingly having satisfied herself about whatever it was. everyone then proceeded to eat.

A while later I looked back, everyone was gone and Silver was puffed up having a late afternoon nap.

Well not everyone was gone., Mr. Downy and a male House Finch were having a few sunflower seeds before bed.

H. Finch gave us a stare while he shucked.

I looked up and there were Doorstep and Friend--not off to roost just yet. Instead they'd taken their particular perch in the maple tree to catch the last warm rays of the day.

The sparrows often do the same, on the top of the pile but the sun had moved behind the spruce and one by one they were retiring into the shelter of their now almost igloo stick pile. The cover of snow making it even snugger than before.

Donna Browne

Nuthatch Underwear, Sparrow Motive, M. Downy Returns, Ravens in General, and Tower of London Ravens in Particular

White-breasted Nuthatch not only shows her underwear but also her unusual perching method of grabbing the feeder with her toes on the fly. Then she flipped around facing the opposite direction and shopped the feeder for the fattest sunflower seed. (They actually do look for the biggest, fattest seeds.)


There is some kind of ruckus going on in the grape arbor again. It's about the houses, also again. There is one on each upright of the arbor. A male House Sparrow is inside the south house fighting off all comers. What is the big deal about these houses? I could understand if it were breeding season but why now?

The female House Sparrow has secreted herself behind the post. See her standing on the pipe to the right of the post? Male Sparrow can't see her. He comes out and flies to the other house on the other end of the pipe.

In the meantime, as he flew out, female sparrow came round to the front. She is in the vines in the bottom left of the above photo. Then she flies up into the house.

Male Sparrow has gone into the second house on the other end of the pipe. Then suddenly he comes bombing out and heads for the first house. Female whips out of House One and Male dives in.

Then the mystery of the house attraction is solved! Male sparrow's head pops out and he is eating what looks like a grain of wheat. Evidently, one of the caching birds, perhaps the newly arrived Blue Jay, has been stashing grain in the houses. I need to find out if Red-bellied Woodpeckers cache. He's back as well.

Not to be fooled again by the female, male also keeps an eye peeled below the house.

What's going on in the Spruce tree? Sight lines just aren't good enough.

Male sparrow comes out and perches on the roof. Better but still not good enough.

Female sparrow bombs him off. And at this point, I have to leave. DRAT! I don't know how it all turned out.

Male Downy Woodpecker is back also as of today. Look at his eyes. There is something about certain highly active species of bird's eyes: Woodpeckers, Hummingbirds, Nuthatch. Somehow they seem to bulge more than other species. It reminds me of hyperthyroid humans.

I found this position fascinating. He's bracing himself with his vertical tail while his body is at a near 45 degree angle vertically. How does that work?

Blog contributor Jackie of the Tulsa Forum with some goodies about Ravens--

Hi, Donna:
Your recent postings about the crows, your fondness for bird group names, and your interest in things British put me in mind of our Tulsa Hawk Forum discussion about ravens a couple months ago. Here are some highlights, as well as some links of interest.

"A group of Ravens is called 'An Unkindness'. It can also be a 'Constable' or 'Conspiracy', though, depending on what they are doing at the time. For example, an unkindness of ravens might torment a dog and steal its food. A constable of ravens is stationed at the Tower of London. A conspiracy of ravens might be seen lurking in the shadows of a garbage dump." http://www.shades-of-night.com/aviary/names.html

Regarding the famous Tower of London Ravens (from Wikipedia): "It had been thought that there have been at least six ravens in residence at the tower for centuries. It was said that Charles II ordered their removal following complaints from John Flamsteed, the Royal Astronomer.[5] However, they were not removed because Charles was then told of the legend that if the ravens ever leave the Tower of London, the White Tower, the monarchy, and the entire kingdom would fall…. The earliest known reference to a tower raven is a picture in the newspaper The Pictorial World in 1885. This and scattered subsequent references to the tower ravens, both literary and visual, which appear in the late nineteenth to early twentieth century place them near the monument commemorating those beheaded at the tower, popularly known as the "scaffold."

This strongly suggests that the ravens, which are notorious for gathering at gallows, were originally used to dramatize tales of imprisonment and execution at the tower told by the Yeomen Warders to tourists.[7]

There is evidence that the original ravens were donated to the tower by the Earls of Dunraven, perhaps because of their association with the Celtic raven-god Bran.[9] However wild ravens, which were once abundant in London and often seen around meat markets (such as nearby Eastcheap) feasting for scraps, could have roosted at the tower in earlier times…...[10]

During the Second World War most of the Tower's ravens perished through shock during bombing raids, leaving a sole survivor named 'Grip'.[10] Before the tower reopened to the public on 1 January 1946, care was taken to ensure that a new set of ravens was in place.[12]

There are currently nine ravens, whose wings are clipped to prevent them from flying away, and they are cared for by the Ravenmaster, a duty given to one of the Yeomen Warders….as of November 2006):[13]
Gwylum (male, 18 years old)
Thor (male, 15 years old)
Hugin (female, 11 years old)
Munin (female, 11 years old)
Branwen (female, 3 years old)
Bran (male, 3 years old)
Gundulf (male, 1 year old)
Baldrick (male, 1 year old)
Fleur (female, 4 years old)
The oldest raven ever to serve at the Tower of London was called Jim Crow, who died at the age of 44.[14]

In 2006, ahead of the H5N1 avian influenza scare, the ravens were moved indoors; as of July 2006, they are once again free to roam about the grounds within the tower complex." (I removed footnote markers for #6 and #8 after 1885 and Dunraven. For some reason, the posting here insists on replacing them with a couple of funky icons.
Two other entertaining links:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/4098894.stm BBC article about The Ravenmaster, the officer in charge of the Tower's ravens.

More on the Tower and the Ravens in http://everything2.com/node/1060691

Enjoy!
Jackie (Tulsa's KJRH Hawks Forum)

Some years ago I visited the Ravens at the Tower of London. In the Ravens opinion it is they that run the place. They are also officially Constable Wardens of the Tower of London, or so I was told by one of the human Constable Wardens. According to report the avian Constable Wardens, can be quite disagreeable if crossed. There was something about them that caused most visiting humans to stand aside when one came their way.

I was also told that the Ravens were first made Constable Wardens because that was the way their rations could be drawn from the military commisarian. Currently the daily Raven Rations include 6 ounces of meat and bird biscuits soaked in blood. Once a week they get an egg and periodically a rabbit as the fur and other odd bits are good for them as they'd be eating that sort of thing in the wild.

I knew the Raven's wings were clipped but I also know they are very smart and willful so I asked if any of them had ever escaped. I was told, absolutely they have. One was a Raven named Grog who was rather fond of the beverage he was named for. (Grog is watered rum.) Raven Grog escaped in his 20's so no doubt he'd had time to figure out and beat the security system. He was last seen standing in front of a pub called the Pitcher and Rose.

But my favorite escaping Tower of London Raven is George. Now keep in mind these guys don't manage to sneakily grow their flight feathers out without the Ravenmaster noticing and then glide over the wall in the dark of night. Oh no. An escaping Tower of London Raven has to walk out. And he has to walk out a secured door or jump out a low secured window. Remember the Crown Jewels are kept at the Tower so the security isn't frippery.

Well, George managed to escape. In fact our buddy George the Constable Warden Raven managed to escape repeatedly. Each time he'd made yet another clean break, George would walk, bold as brass down the middle of the sidewalk, until he reached the fire escape he had his eye on that day. Upon reaching the fire escape he would climb the fire escape to the roof. On the roof, he would proceed to the buildings large television antenna, that he'd also had his eye on and proceed to dismantle it. To be honest, he chewed and tugged them to bits. And of course everyone in the apartment building would loose their BBCTV reception.

Amusing at first perhaps, but George was so good at getting away, and demolishing antennas that before long the neighbors were up in arms about him. So to save the neighbors their television reception and possibly George's well being if an irate neighbor caught him in the act, he was moved to the "protective custody" of the Welsh Mountain Zoo.

And they never did find out just how George was managing to circumvent all efforts to stop his escapes.

Two other Ravens have been banished for "conduct unbecoming". I'm told these two found it quite amusing to menace the tourists and on occasion to jump at them, and even, now and again actually give someone a nip.

It sounds to me that these particular Ravens could have used some large Raven toys to dismantle and puzzles for mental stimulation. Given an enriched environment, they might not have lost their Constable Warden status. But then again being extremely willful, it might not have made any difference at all.

Donegal Browne