Two Against the Hawk

Dearest Rachel –

I would promise you that this title and story has nothing to do with the individual known virally as the “Hawk Tuah” girl, except that she came to prominence well after your departure, so you wouldn’t have the first clue about who I’m even referring to. For whatever it’s worth (not that this helps much to give you a clue), I will point out that your technique was superior to hers as claimed by orders of magnitude, and leave it at that. Those that know what I’m talking about cannot condemn me for my crudity without acknowledging their own complicity in knowing the details behind her all-too-specific fame; while those that don’t understand can remain none the wiser, secure in the knowledge that whatever made this girl momentarily famous, you were better at it, even if I’m the only one to be able to vouch for you (and technically, I can only vouch for you, and not her).

Anyway, enough of that digression, amusing as it might be for me to continue in that vein; what got me started writing was a sight Lars and I encountered on our walk yesterday, just south of Wilmette Road and east of the Edens (not east of Eden; that’s a whole other story). We will occasionally take notice of the wildlife along the way (particularly the deer, since they tend to be at eye level), but I have to admit that the birds generally escape our attention unless they’re darting in front of us as we pass through. As a rule, they are more heard than seen, and if we do catch a glimpse of them, they don’t often stay in place long enough for a photograph.

But this time around, there was one in particular that was perched atop a tree long enough that we weren’t even the ones to notice him, but rather, it was a cyclist who stopped and pointed him out to us:

Neither Lars nor I had really noticed the increase in the ambient birdsong until she pointed this out to us, but on further examination (and taking pictures of the hawk, sitting on its perch), we realized that there were a couple of smaller birds, possibly swallows, fearlessly dive-bombing the hawk. It was amazing to watch them charging at this bird that was probably as big as both of them put together.

Despite the fact that the hawk looked as if he could have made a meal out of either of them by themselves, Lars and the cyclist concluded that they didn’t actually have to fear being attacked by the hawk themselves, because they weren’t his real target. They guessed that he was waiting for the two of them to leave their nest (wherever it was; presumably in the direction he had been staring so intently), at which point he would swoop in and snack on their eggs.

This clearly was something the swallows understood, and would not stand for. After some time of yelling at him melodiously (which is apparently what got the cyclist’s attention), they took the fight to him, trying to chase him away from their nest so that they could leave and get on with whatever else they needed to do with their home without having to worry about it being invaded and their little ones eggnapped.

But even that wasn’t enough for the two of them, as they pursued him past the interstate, making sure that he was far enough away for them to go back and resume their daily life. At one point, I watched as one of them bounced off of him in flight, as if he was trying to throw the bigger bird out of his flying rhythm; almost like the avian equivalent of a P.I.T. maneuver we used to see on various cop shows back in the day. That didn’t succeed, in terms of sending the hawk spinning out of the sky, but it did cause him to hasten in his flight away from them, presumably in search of easier prey elsewhere. All the while, the chirping never stopped, as the swallows called out the equivalent of “and stay out!” after him in his retreat.

I found myself thinking about the old saying that “it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog.” Clearly, the proverb isn’t restricted to dogs; this is a thing that’s common throughout the animal kingdom (and humanity, one would expect; a proverb is meant to be applied to one’s own life, after all, otherwise it’s rather useless). Of course, the size of the fight is probably tied to the size of the stakes; the hawk was only concerned about his next meal, while the swallows were defending their family, their children. Who’s going to “bring it” to this battle, after all?

To be sure, it’s not a moral I could take to heart at the moment – I’ve no fight with anyone that I know of, nor do I need this kind of encouragement in my life’s battles – but perhaps someone reading this over your shoulder can picture them in this situation, and realize they can fend off the hawks in their life. Then again, it’s easier when there’s two of you to do so; take that how you will.

If you can find a pair of folks dealing with such a situation, honey, I’d ask you to keep an eye on them, and wish them luck. For the moment, they’ll need it more than I will.