Hawk Out

The pizza guy knocked and said “you’ve got a hawk out here.”

“A what?” This was supposed to be a contactless delivery. He sounded serious. I leaned out of my apartment to check. Sure enough, something flew back and forth over our heads. I live at the top of a three story walk up with tall windows on both sides. Poor thing bonked itself against the glass several times. I’ve seen birds and insects get confused before, but never one this large and this confused.

This bird, which did look quite hawkish, was about the size of a Cornish game hen. I suppose I was undressing it with my eyes, because I’ve only ever seen those dead and featherless in the grocery store. Maybe I was just hungry.

After the pizza guy left, I called animal control. I tried to sound as normal as possible as I described the issue. What if the hawk left on its own after I called? They’d think I was crazy or that I made it up to get attention. But the dispatcher assured me that I could just call back and let them know. No harm, no fowl.

I watched the hawk like a hawk while my pizza got cold. I took a grainy picture of it using the zoom feature on my phone. My seven year old daughter, an animal enthusiast, kept begging to go out there and pet it. What kind of mother would I be if I let my kid get her eyes pecked out by a bird of prey?

As I waited, I felt so sorry for the thing, trapped in a maze of mediocre suburban architecture. It should have been out there soaring through the trees and posing for the cover of National Geographic, not trapped in some smelly old apartment building. Okay, I might have been projecting a little here.

And who would they send to collect this majestic creature? I imagined some kind of animal whisperer, perhaps a handsome young woman in form fitting khakis with a pair of those thick leather gloves that go up to the elbow. She’d identify the animal by its Latin name, then mimic the bird’s melodious call until it came to perch contentedly on her index finger. Maybe they’d start a duet.

The reality was less ‘Disney Princess’ and more ‘Paul Blart Mall Cop.’ A large bearded fellow ambled up the steps. No gloves. No mask. Just a big ‘ol net on the end of a long stick. It took him only a few minutes to catch the hawk, so I guess he knew what he was doing.

“What happens now?,” I asked.

“Depending on what condition he’s in I’ll either let him go or take him to the vet.”

With the animal subdued, I settled on the couch and started Googling. There are seven species of hawks in Virginia. I compared their pictures to the one I took and the Cooper’s hawk seemed like the closest match. After doing a little research I learned that Cooper’s Hawks are commonly found in populated areas. Their diet consists mainly of other (smaller) birds. They squeeze them to death in their talons or hold them underwater until they drown. Girls gotta eat I guess.

The next day we left to get breakfast and saw a bunch of feathers on the stairs. Wet feathers. Bloody feathers. There was so much gore! The kid assumed the feathers had been knocked loose when the hawk was captured, but I’m positive they were part of its victim. A dove or a sparrow maybe? It was hard to tell.

In some traditions, a dead bird can symbolize change and transition. Hawks are seen as messengers from the gods. To see both seems like a big omen. I hope it’s a good one.

Sources:

https://birdfeederhub.com/hawks-in-virginia/ https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Coopers_Hawk/overview#https://www.millersguild.com/dead-bird-symbolism/#2_Its_a_Rebornhttps://worldbirds.com/hawk-symbolism/