There’s a baby hawk sitting in a nearby tree. He’s squawking day and night. The sound is echoing through the hills. I can tell you one thing, he’s making the squirrels and gophers nervous. The bird is stressing everybody out, his parents, especially. It’s not like hawks have a corner market to go to, where they can buy squirrel jerky and sugar drinks. I like the sound of junior’s crying, but I’m not, nor will I ever be his dinner.
His poor parents have their work cut out for them. I suppose they can nab a pigeon whenever they want. Pigeons can’t be that difficult to catch. You don’t have to tell the kid it’s a pigeon, you can tell him, that it’s squab.
No comments:
Post a Comment