My mother wasn’t the greatest cook. Not that she was dreadful, mostly that she wasn’t interested in doing much more than putting nutrients into our systems, sadly a talent I have inherited. Food was made to be consumed, often with whatever she had on hand. To this day, I HATE ginger because she discovered that a large ginger root would last her ages and she could - should not have!!! - but could put it in everything. As a result of my mother’s lack of culinary genius, my brother and I became experts in the chew-deposit-in-napkin-while-she’s-not-looking eating technique. And the following excuse-yourself-to-the-bathroom-to-flush-it-down-the-toilet, which always worked unless there were multiple bathroom visits at which point our bowel health would be questioned and no one wanted that. When that happened, we’d revert to the “Could I get some more milk?” and make sure to pass the garbage on the way back from the refrigerator. We drank a lot of milk. We’ve also both always been very good about taking out the garbage. I bring this up because Wednesday, this massive Red-tailed Hawk landed on squirrel in our backyard and proceeded to rip him to shreds for lunch. My somewhat productive day shot to hell, I spent the next few hours watching him eat, then hop/fly squirrel remains all over the yard until he found a perfect spot to “hide” the carcass. Perfect spot for him. The fallen rotting tree branch within the boundaries of Tigger the Dog's electric fence was not a perfect spot for me. Mr. Hawk then proceeded to perch in the crook of a tree above his spot and spent the rest of his time with us cleaning his bloody talons and threatening to kill me with every look in my direction. Seriously, his stare said “I will cut you if you even think about coming closer into the yard.” I didn't. I like my face the way it is. Here’s my dilemma: It's two days later and I have a dead squirrel at the bottom of the garden. Well, really a partial squirrel; head, back legs and tail, at the bottom of the garden. At what point can I remove squirrel bits and Tigger the Dog temptation and not get cut to shreds by a pissed off Hawk looking for leftovers for breakfast? And really, shouldn’t this be Husband’s job? Tigger the Dog is his dog and his responsibility should she eat three day old shredded squirrel bits and need a quick visit to the doctor. Or if the “Don't mind us, we’re just passing through” coyotes decide that this a good place to hang out because of the free eats. Or if the “I have a gun and like to shoot it at wildlife while wandering the neighborhood in camouflage and night vision goggles in the dark of night” neighbor comes through and mistakes Tigger the Dog for something wilder and less wimpy, we’re going to be down one dog and up an obvious trauma Husband won’t address or seek therapy for... Life was so much easier when we had napkins to put the icky food into and a plumbing system that could handle the waste... Pictures by Husband. Blurry edits by me. Note squirrel legs in full rigor on left side of Hawk and full "I will cut you!" stare thrown in our direction while he's ripping/eating guts from said squirrel. Not boring!
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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