The Hawks and the Finches

The finches are back. I noticed the female sitting on the nest a few days ago. I hope their babies fare better than last year.

It’s been about a year since we really noticed the Hawks. They’re amazing to watch, gliding through the air, that long screaming call announcing their presence. I watched them soar high and fast, sometimes trailed by a crew of pigeons or other smaller birds. At first there were only two and then I began to see a third one, slightly smaller. They would sit patiently on the power lines that run above the backyard fence, taking it all in.

My Boston Terrier was the first to discover the headless bird in the backyard. She loves to explore and eat random things when she’s outside. Fortunately, I caught her sniffing and pawing at something and walked over to see what she was so excited to find. That’s when I saw what I thought was a dead bird, which it was. It was a dead bird without a head. This was an odd find, but I immediately thought of the hawks and how they often sat on the wires directly above the spot. A couple days later my husband found the gopher skull, hair still attached. At that point I started liking the hawks less and less. The least they could do was pick up their food if they dropped it.

A couple weeks went by without us finding any meal remnants. The Hawks were still there and continued to frequent our power lines. One afternoon I pulled into the driveway and saw two hawks perched on the power lines. One appeared to be holding something in its talon. Curious, I dropped my stuff off inside and headed to the backyard patio. It was the perfect viewing point. There, I saw clearly what each hawk was holding. The hawk on the left held a lizard, the one on the right, a bird. My husband and I sat there watching as they picked apart and ate their meals. This was the first time I had ever witnessed a hawk feeding. I couldn’t help but watch this gruesome, yet awesome act. It was especially disturbing as the hawk struggled with the rubbery toughness of the lizard’s skin. It held it in its talon and would tug at it with its mouth. I could almost hear the lizard snap apart.

We knew the finch eggs would hatch soon. They had built a nest in the space between the support beam and the cross beam holding the roof of the patio. I could stand inside and see the female sitting on the nest. One day I heard the crying chirps of the babies and saw the male on the edge of the nest, helping with their feeding. At first I could see just their upturned open mouths waiting for food. Eventually I could see their full heads and counted three of them. They were getting closer to the time they would leave the nest.

It was a Tuesday morning when I opened the back door to let the dogs out and saw two tiny birds on the patio. I immediately closed the door to prevent an over curious dog from causing any harm. After taking the dogs out the front door, I returned to the patio to check on the birds. That’s when I saw all three of them, none of them moving. I leaned in closer and saw they were breathing and I went back inside. I checked on them throughout the day. Each time they were in a slightly different spot but still on the patio. It was a warm day and they did the best they could to stay out of the hot sun.

In the evening, with the heat of the day letting up, I returned to the patio to find only two birds. They were becoming more active and would walk-hop a few steps and stop and rest. Then they began to stretch their wings as they hopped and rested. It took close to an hour for both of them to make it to the edge of the patio and then take the eight inch leap to the sidewalk. After another brief rest, they ventured into the yard, small enough to pass unseen through the short grass. I watched them all evening as they explored their new world, under the watchful eye of their parents, sitting on the fence. As they moved around, they were awkward, learning to hold their wings, to hop and flap and hop. They were getting closer to flying and I watched, captivated by these two tiny birds, fuzzy, new, curious. With each hop, I cheered, willing them to catch air and take flight. They were so close. As it grew dark, I watched as one hopped into the aloe plant and the other took refuge under the cactus. I went inside feeling light and hopeful.

In the early light of the next morning, the Boston was the first to discover it. I walked to the spot where she pawed and scratched in the grass. My heart sank to see the fuzzy, small feathered tail lying on the ground, covered in ants.