You have no idea how difficult it can be to get an accurate squirrel population count in my backyard. I was in the lanai trying to be unnoticed and being as still as Lot's wife after her friends played that practical joke on her. I was counting the little goofballs as they rocketed around the lawn and up, over, and through the fence. I was getting counts ranging from seven to eleven. Once I counted twelve.
Ms. Wonder is concerned that we're experiencing an infestation. I think that by feeding them twice daily, we've encouraged residents in larger squirrel cities, to relocate to our more relaxed coastal communities. The problem is, we don't have the infrastructure to support the growth.
Birds were in great abundance this morning too. It's late October and the annual east coast bird migration is only beginning to taper off. I've counted 100 different species in our neighborhood this fall and many of them aren't native to the area. Just as I was about to open the lanai door, a Bluejay began making a racket. It was his signature call.
"Skreeee, skreeee, skreeee!" shouted the Jay.
The animals scattered, some of them falling over themselves trying to get to the safety of the forest. Between the calls from the Jay, I became aware of another call, a sort of high-pitched whistle, coming from much higher, and farther away.
Hawk! I thought. I quickly checked the Merlin app on my phone. It was a Red-Shouldered Hawk.
I scanned the sky above me but saw nothing. Back into the house and out the front door into the open. The hawk was at least two hundred feet above the edge of our little community, drifting in great, lazy circles that brought it slowly toward my house.
Breakfast, I thought to myself and I was thinking of his breakfast, not mine. The hawk would be over my house in the next minute or two and I was considering what to do to make my yard seem undesirable to a hawk when a crow crossed my vision flying at rooftop level and heading in the general direction of the trees that border our little village.
"You go girl," I said to the crow thinking she was planning to give the hawk a dose of grief for invading her home turf. But you be careful, I thought. "There's only one of you and you don't have his razor-sharp, bone-crushing talons."
Before I finished the thought, another crow appeared flying in the same direction as the first. Then a second, a third, until there were six crows, all heading to the same part of the forest.
I knew what they were planning, of course, and you do too. They were going to review their attack plans, synchronize their watches, and perform their duty.
About 15 minutes later, the hawk was directly over the houses that line the cul-de-sac in front of my house. In another 10 minutes, he would be directly over my backyard.
That's when I heard it. The collective chatter of a murder of crows. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that 'murder' is the correct name for a group of crows. Regular followers of The Circular Journey know these things. If you're a newcomer to the blog, then welcome. It's good to have you here.
One of the crows, probably near the crow flying in the point position, made a different sound. Hard to describe it. I don't pretend to be an expert on crow battle tactics, but I expect she was providing the leader with intelligence updates on recent developments in the hawk's position, orientation, and tactical response to the crow advance. Don't you agree?
Whatever information she was relaying, I'm sure it was something like, "There's only six of us, Ma'am. That hawk is spoiling for a fight, and he has bone-crushing, razor-sharp talons."
"Caaagghh," said the leader, and to me it seemed she was saying, "I'm not asking you, Lieutenant. Damn the talons! Full speed ahead!"
I could hear the other crows encouraging each other with caws of support.
"The Old Girl will get us through. The Old Girl ain't afraid of nothin'!" they said.
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I pumped a fist toward the sky. "Wait 'til you see the whites of his eyes," I cried, "and then give him hell!"
It wasn't much but I wanted to show my support and appreciation of their efforts. I suppose I was a cheerleader of sorts.
Although thinking of myself as a pacificist, I could support the crow attack without reserve because I knew the hawk wouldn't be hurt in the attack. Physically, I mean. His ego would be bruised quite severely and he might possibly need therapy to get over it. But he'd be alright.
What I witnessed was something that I like to call a 'balance of power'. It's something that Mother Nature stumbled across years ago and it's one of her best discoveries, if you want my opinion.
I think it would benefit the humans among us if they used the concept in forming their governments. Think of it. Different branches of government serving as watchdogs over the other branches.
And so there you have it; the beginning of my Sunday morning. As I drove out of the neighborhood, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a hawk twisting, turning, diving, and generally trying to get away from a murder of crows intent on giving him hell.
On my way to meet the Island Irv at Cafe Luna, I felt like all was right with the world. The squirrels and birds in my backyard were safe for another day and I had a story to tell the islander over coffee.
