Rooting For The Wrong Team

I always watch the birds on the wires near my bus stop warily. We get some of those starlings or whatever in the springtime that love to attack the ever-loving heck out of poor, innocent bus riders because they’re standing within three blocks of their nest.

Nothing like a three pound bird hitting you in the back of the head at 20mph to wake you up in the morning.

So I’m standing there, eyeballing a bird hanging out over the intersection. My distance vision has gotten worse and I can’t tell what kind of bird it is. It dives into the ivy near the I-5 support wall, and I think to myself, Oh, great. It’s building a nest right across from the bus stop. Another season of waving my arms over my head, looking like a crazy person on the side of Macadam.

Then it starts flying low across the street, carrying what I think is a big leaf. Until the leaf twitches. The bird pulls up, and bites at the big, fat, panicking mouse, and is nearly hit by a car. I figure out, hey, that’s a hawk! as it drops the mouse on the windscreen of the next car and flies up out of the way of the traffic.

I’m from an agricultural area, and that means that rodents? Are the enemy. They destroy crops and feed, crap and pee everywhere, and if there’s too many of them around, that means there is an increase in the rattlesnake population.

I’m rooting for the hawk.

The mouse flails about on the road, and the traffic dies down so it has a chance to run for the gutter. The hawk makes its move, but misjudges the height of the sidewalk.

The mouse scrabbles around, pops up onto the sidewalk and makes a break for the ivy. I’m yelling, “Dude, he’s right there! Go get him!” at the hawk, but he’s decided to go find an easier dinner.

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