Hawks and Doves

Out walking in the 43 degree pale dawn sunlight and realized the local hawk was standing not more than ten feet away from me in the burrowing owl "enclosure." (The staked out area that tells the city maintenance crews were not to mow.) We stared at each other for a couple of moments before it came to me:

"You're not. . .hunting . . . OWLS!? Are you?"

He looked at me, then one of the burrows, then back at me and slowly took off to land on a telephone pole across the street. So, that was my answer, I guess.

I backtracked a little from my walk, later, to see if he had gone back to the owl site but there was no sign of him.

I mean, for crying out loud, there are two to three dozen mourning doves just down the street hanging out on the telephone lines overlooking the bin of cracked corn the elderly couple put out for the Muscovy ducks every morning. Go have some pigeon for breakfast!