I was on my way to work when the call came through. It was my wife. There was a large bird that was in the backyard, and she'd observed it shaking a bit then falling forward and dying on the patio. In the meantime, the smaller birds that live in the trees along the fence were diving at it and she was concerned about what might become of the carcass and the limitations it's being there would place on her day with the kids. She was upset, did not want to attempt to remove it, and wanted me to come home at lunch and attend to it.
I hate stuff like this. And not out of some dramatic empathy for the bird, but because it's removal is really not something I wanted to have to return home to deal with. It seemed ridiculous that she'd not do so herself. I literally asked her "You mean to say that you want me to come all the way back home to scoop up a dead bird?!". "Yes" was her reply. Said in a way that, seasoned veterans such as my self will attest, clearly indicates a futility of further discussion.
Having not made it all the way to work yet, expecting that the delay of its removal could become a messy situation if the smaller birds or a neighbor's cat got to it before I did, I circled back, heading home, and instructed her to leave a paper grocery bag on the patio for me to put it into.
I'm so glad I did. Because what happened next was incredible, and not an opportunity one frequently finds outside of the confines of an aviary or zoo.
When I got to the house I got out of my car and as I was heading towards the backyard, paper bag in one hand an a large shovel in the other, I heard an exclamation by my daughter, saying "It moved!".
I've had to deal with bird removal before. And rat removal as well. It's not news. But when my wife had indicated that a large bird had died, I envisioned a chunky pigeon. This was not a chunky pigeon. This was something that would devour the remains of a chunky pigeon for lunch. This was a talon bearing, meat-tearing-beak wearing hawk. A small one by relative measure, but a hawk nonetheless.
It was not dead. And the birds in the trees above were none-to-happy to have it around. They had been swooping at and pecking at it when my wife had called and even with my presence, they were still coming unusually close and being uncharacteristically vocal.
I recall, earlier that morning, having heard a great deal of commotion in the trees outside the bedroom window. I even stopped to look out the window and see if I could spot some reason for the activity. I saw nothing but heard lots of bird chatter. And rustling. Perhaps the hawk was the cause for this, and likely scouting out his breakfast amongst the branches.
As I approached it, a bag in one hand and a shovel in the other, his head started moving about slightly and he wobbled about a bit. It looked oddly familiar. It looked like the dazed and confused bird encounter I had at our rental house. I'm seeing a pattern here.
But this hawk was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful. The photo does not do it justice. And it sat there as I approached, slowly, squatting down to take a closer look.
The kids were inside the house in the outer room, windows opened so they could hear and talk to me, and my son was instructing me to "not shovel it". Whatever that meant. I assured them that I'd not hurt him. My wife and I briefly discussed if we expected he'd recuperate or expire. And the angry birds swooping overhead were coming temptingly within range of the shovel in my hand.
For a brief moment, the hawk made a futile effort to stand, and I got an amazing glimpse at its bright yellow feet and razor sharp claws. I can understand why trainers have those heavy gloves, and I expect you can understand that, at that point, the fleeting thought of gently attempting to pick it up quickly disappeared from my mental checklist of options.
As he rested back down on the cement of the patio, I turned to my wife and said: "Call animal control". I had to get to work, she was leaving with the kids, and I figured they'd be able to come out and either remove the body if that was the outcome or take the injured animal away for medical attention. And they'd have thick gloves at their disposal.
At the instruction of the animal control representative on the phone, we placed a ventilated box over the bird and I put a few bricks on top to prevent it from toppling it over in case it regained strength, and to prevent the birds or any cats from coming to attack in our absence. Before doing so I shot a series of photos to capture the moment.
I found out later that they did indeed arrive shortly after our call, and took the bird away to a habitat where they'd tend to it and re-release it. As to what happened, its anybody's guess so far. Perhaps it hit a window or fell when it flew into a wire. Perhaps the bird in the tree had been attacking it. Perhaps it was just ill.
I think the kids will be talking about this for some time to come.