It was a glorious morning, very early.
“Caw! Caw! Caw!” came the ugly croaking call of a crow, summoning his cohorts to make a try for the breakfast that was about to happen when Robbie, Ryan, Ross, and Roberta left their robin’s nest.
I picked up some pebbles from the yard, grabbed the slingshot and went looking for the murderers who threatened to skewer the baby robins with their sharp beaks, much like hors d’oeuvres at a cocktail party.
As I walked down the path in front of my house, the crows flew away, and I stood a moment to admire the view.
I took a few breaths of fresh sea air and turned to go back home. Just then, something burst out of the two-foot-high St. John’s wort shrubbery at the side of the road. It flew up onto a fence rail about ten feet away and stared down at me.
It stared and stared and stared, for maybe 30 seconds, and then it flew up into a nearby fir tree.
I hurried into the house and traded the slingshot for a camera.
It was much farther away now, and I had to zoom the camera. It’s a bit fuzzy, but I was still thrilled to get any kind of a picture of this great horned owl.
Later I saw what it might have been after.
Looking back, I was harassing the crows who were harassing the owl who was about to harass the rabbit who was about to harass my garden which held the worms that the robins were about to harass. And what was harassing me? The backyard supervisors, wanting their breakfast.
Sorry for the blurry picture of Emma. She can NEVER sit still.
And Ruby, patiently waiting for her breakfast.