The hawk cometh

falco

The first time I heard it, it was something between the sound of a child crying and a pig being slaughtered. Grabbing my mother in-law’s walking stick I head outside cautiously with the stick fully extended. Initially it was unclear where this horrid sound was coming from until I heard it again and looked up. There, perched upon the second floor window that I call my bedroom sat the hawk. Pugnacious and unfazed, he took one look at my improvised walking stick armament and said, “Okay, you’re a little too fucking serious for a city boy turned farmer. I’m outta here.” And with that he flew off.

I told the in-laws about the sound and immediately they looked up and said, “great, the hawk is back”. While a majestic creature that you probably wouldn’t want to fight with, they naturally pose little threat to us. The petite little sausage dog that at times pretends to be the guard of the house is a different story though given that if a hawk can carry off a lamb for Sunday dinner, then a dachshund proves little threat as well.

An hour after the news of the hawk’s re-emergence from wherever he had gone to had settled in, the sound outside returned. The incredibly viscous dachshund’s response was to bark uncontrollably in the direction of “outside” while looking over his shoulder and running straight under the table where he remained most of the evening until lured out by some leftover cream from dessert.

Of course now when taking the sausage for a walk, in addition to the snakes on the ground, we keep our eyes up to the sky for the threat of hawk. Ah and then in the evening there are the boars too. I wonder if there’s room under the table for two.