where hawks dare

If you saw my studio it would come as no surprise that I also have forgotten blog posts squirreled away.  This one, apparently from the spring time.  Still perfect I think for a nice Sunday read.  It's day two of the Bucktown show.  I hope we're sold out by the end of it!!   :)
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Okay, you and I have both heard the stories, right? Of some poor little dog taken away or at least severely mauled by a bird of prey. Unfortunately mistaken for a bunny or groundhog, or other tasty mammal of similar size.

Even though Baxter rules as kielbasa amongst his vienna sausage sized cousins, the thought of hawk attack always looms in the back of my mind when tiny chumley is out trundling about in our backyard. Unreasonable, I always remind myself. Baby dog is way too big to be confused for a bunny. Or groundhog. Or anything that a hawk should really consider carrying away.

But then there's this past spring, when the little kielbasa and I were out in the backyard. B making his grade A-sized holes, and me weeding the grass out of our patio. Though I couldn't see anything in the sky, I heard keeing. It seemed to get louder and louder, til my conscience could stand it no longer. Alright, I'm sure that hawk is eyeing something else, but Baxter's paws were dirty enough and it's kinda cold out anyway. Let's go inside and run the paw wash from there, I figured somewhat sheepishly. And I thought nothing more of it.

Then on another day the late spring we both were out back again. Me, weeding, and B, digging and  rooting around in the open amonsgst the leaves and grass  like a happy little almost naked pig. Because we both agreed that with all that dirt being tossed around and under him, Baxter digging in the mostly nude was way better than Baxter digging with a dud on.

Five minutes of silent piglet-y bliss were pierced by the keeing cries of a hawk, directionally increasing in volume. Directionally headed to what seemed like was our backyard. Uh-oh. No way.

Without a thought, I dropped what I was doing and ran toward my little brown piglet, who also decided to run. But unfortunately, in a direction very much away from me. But at least he was running into the woods, I thought as I chased after him.

By the time I caught up with tiny boyfriend and had him in my arms, I looked back, and saw the hawk land in the top of an oak tree in our yard. A tree positioned barely six feet from where Baxter had just been.

Perched high above, the hawk seemingly stared in our direction.

After a few moments passed, the hawk relieved himself, and went keeing back into the air. He and another friend, who had earlier heard his cries and wanted in on the action, glided  noisily overhead in huge circular fashion, like graceful kites in the bright blue sky. Holding the chum tightly against me, I chose not to wait to see what would happen next.

So now here I sit,  not quite sure if two data points are enough to make any definite conclusions as to the hawk's intent or Baxter's vulnerabilities. But wondering nevertheless if I should take additional hawk-proofing measures. Would putting a dud on Baxter be enough to confuse the enemy? Or, perhaps a tiny suit of armor down the length of his back, made of sheet metal or kevlar? Or maybe if I strapped a rubbermaid tub on the little kielbasa's back, like a turtle shell?? 

Sigh. Please let it be a freak coincidence. Or at the very least, please let there be many many many bunnies this spring, so Baxter and the hawks both will have something better to hunt. :)