“The resemblance between Cooper’s Hawk and the Sharp-shinned is not confined to color, but extends to habit, the Cooper being, if anything, because of its superior size, fiercer and more destructive. It will dash into the farmyard like a bolt, passing within a few feet of individuals and carrying off a young chicken with incredible swiftness.”
“The attack is accomplished so suddenly that, unless the gun is in hand, the robber always escapes. There is no time to run even a few yards for a weapon – the thief is gone before it can be reached. If there is plenty of thick cover in the run, the chickens will often escape, especially the more active breeds, like Leghorns. At my home, I have repeatedly seen them strike, but as the foliage is dense and brushy they have invariably been unsuccessful in securing the quarry. In four years we have not lost a chicken by Hawks.”
An idea, maybe, Kev?
“Cooper’s Hawk is preeminently a “chicken hawk” and is by far the most destructive species we have to contend with. Although not so large as the Goshawk, it is strong enough to carry away a good-sized chicken, grouse, or cottontail rabbit. It is especially fond of domesticated Doves, and when it finds a cote easy of approach or near its nesting site, the inmates usually disappear at the rate of one or two a day until the owner takes a hand in the game.”
How field guides have changed in 90-some years!
Hawks, however, haven’t changed in all those years. Late winter is lean for them and they’re getting desperate. Backyard chickens make for an easy meal. I’m glad my brother saves his ire for the woodchucks that raid his garden and reaches for his camera when Cooper comes-a-calling, rather than a weapon.
Reference info from Birds of America, first published in 1917.
All pics by the Reluctant Chicken Farmer.
What can I say, dear friend, to ease your heart in its breaking?
There are no perfect words when someone dies; there is no easy way through pain.
We grasp for comfort, but grief has a way of hitting like a tidal wave; it’s hard to find a steady place to stand when your whole world is upside down.
Know this: that each day is a treasure and that love is its own reward.
I still believe in prayer and that something good and kind comes from it.
My prayer for you is that you continue to reach out
and ask for what you need
that you are able to say what you need to say
and that you go easy on yourself.
Please help me to care for you now
the way you have done for so many and for me
Take your time…
Understand there is no right or wrong way
Carry on…
Let me stand beside you again.
When your eyes are tired the world is tired also.
When your vision has gone no part of the world can find you.
Time to go into the dark where the night has eyes to recognize its own.
There you can be sure you are not beyond love.
The dark will be your womb tonight.
The night will give you a horizon further than you can see.
You must learn one thing: the world was meant to be free in.
Give up all the other worlds except the one to which you belong.
Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet confinement of your aloneness to learn that anything or anyone that does not bring you alive is too small for you…
~David Whyte
Lower range light at Baileys Harbor, Wisconsin
Other names: Sea dotterel; Sea quail; Sand-runner; Stone-pecker; Horsefoot snipe; Brant-bird; Bead-bird; Checkered snipe; Red-legs; Red-legged plover; Chicken plover; Calico-back; Calico-jacket; Sparked-back; Streaked-back; Chuckatuck; Creddock; Jinny; Bishop plover.
… I had an exceptional chance to watch… The select company was “one little Turnstone and I,” the latter armed with binoculars, the former too busy to notice intruders. He was a fine gentleman, dressed in the gaudiest calico possible for the fall fashions, yet not too proud to work for his supper. His method was not unlike that of the proverbial bull in the china shop, for he trotted about, tossing nearly everything that came in his way. Inserting the wedge of his bill under a pebble, a shell, or what not, he would give a real toss of his imperious head, and flop over it would go. His efforts seemed to be well rewarded, for he fed there for some time. It is in search of such prey that the turner of stones operates, a cog in the wheel of the system of nature, which decrees that every possible corner and crevice of the great system shall have its guardian, even the tiny spot of ground beneath the pebble on the beach.
Info from Birds of America, first published in 1917 and which includes color plates of Louis Agassiz Fuertes’ paintings. Said book made for good company this evening.
The Turnstones were not so much trotting about as they were, instead, slip-sliding along the jetty rocks yesterday while they fed. There were no stones to be turned; in fact I wondered just what they were finding edible among the waves.
Once past the terror of the jetty rocks, a rush of wind and an expanse of space… and ducks.
Birders caught in a quandry about the identity of the long-tailed (or are they pin-tailed?) ducks paddling and diving along the inlet at Old Barney’s feet.
(A good enough reason for me to continue calling them oldsquaw… politically incorrect or no…)
The oddly painted costume of the harlequin duck is distinct and well worth the hours long drive to see them.
Random teeterings and dawdlings of dunlin, turnstone and purple sandpiper.
Tears that come at the memory of another visit here, a lifetime ago. I turn around confounded by the wall of wind… heedless of how fast and far I’ve come.
I try to imagine this place in summer, as most would know it… waves glitter a thousand small suns, the long rhythm of the surf, a herring gull’s call like a rusty pulley, the clatter and crunch of periwinkles, scallops and skate egg casings, the sight of a black skimmer slitting the seam between two worlds.
– – – – – – – – – – –
See any good birds yourself this weekend?
😉
Oh… and I ran into Beth out ogling the harlequins! Small world…
“A true friend, regardless of personal sacrifice or embarrassment, makes us smile.”
– Me. (I just made that up.)
(Yes, Linda is wearing a hat fashioned from bubble-packing. She does this sort of thing routinely. It’s all part of The Linda Show.)
Is it any wonder I love her?
😉
Are you lucky enough to have an office clown for entertainment on late afternoons?
Maybe it’s not freezing cold in Australia in mid-January?
giggling into pillows
treasuring the magic of snow and ice
buying the world’s most ridiculous bikini
reminiscing with shrinky-dinks and easy-bake ovens
trying out the big bed
(triple letter and double word scores)
searching for a cell signal in the mountains
watching quietly as children opened gifts
puzzling over cryptic sparrows and wishing for a better lens
meeting friends and family
losing myself in diamond dust and the enormity of the night sky
scandalizing a couple sweet little girls
(nothing too serious… don’t worry!)
scoring an awesome set of horseshoes
celebrating the new year twice
(once with sparklers and banging pots and the next with kisses and hugs)
making wishes on a falling star
beating everyone at pool
soaking up the welcome heat of a fire
seeing someone i love look ridiculously happy
