Tangled in Talons

My first memory is a terrifying one: I took a step, and began hurtling toward the ground. My heart raced, I cried out, and then suddenly, I was airborne—for a second. My wings felt stiff, alien, like they weren’t attached to my body at all. Soon, I crashed to the ground and had to struggle to right myself, my whole body smarting from the impact.

I was vulnerable and alone, looking up and watching my mother fly above me, so elegant, so strong, so silent. Knowing she was watching over me was the only comfort I had back then. I dreamed of being able to swoop and dive as gracefully as she.

Now, flight is as natural to me as breathing, perhaps even more natural. My feathers shine in the sun as I look down on the farmland and scan for any signs of movement.

It’s one of those days that makes me want to stay in flight forever. After a long, cold winter, it feels good to see the green blooming in the trees below, swaying in the gentle breeze that’s not quite strong enough to knock me off course.

I am hungry. The winter was lean, as it always is, with little creatures taking refuge from the cold and avoiding the snowy plains where they are easy to pick up and carry off. With the snow now but a memory, I catch quick snatches of movement below me, but nothing that promises a successful hunt.

A crow swoops at me and I curse under my breath. Those idiots are always bothering me when I need peace the most. Knowing his buddies will be along soon, I dive lower toward the earth, hoping that my graceful maneuvers will be enough to shake him.

“Hawk, hawk, hawk!” His cawing is loud and jarring, pushing all the serenity of the morning out of my mind.

“Do you mind? I’m just minding my own business,” I say, glaring at him. “What’s your problem?”

“Hawk, hawk, hawk!” Apparently, he’s not in a talking mood. I hear the flapping of more wings and soon I’m surrounded by a mass of ugly, loud, and completely unreasonable birds.

“HEY!” I yell as I swoop in between the flapping mass of hysteria. “I’m just passing through! I’m not after your nests!”

“A likely story!” One crow that’s right on my tail pecks and manages to get one good jab in. My rage is rising, but I know that attacking him would be unwise; I might be stronger than they are individually, but in a murder like this, they could take me.

A murder. How appropriate.

As I clear the area they’ve claimed, black birds start to fall back, no longer concerned with my agenda. The last caws fade into the distance and I am once again flying over lawns and fields looking battle-scarred from the cold and snow they’ve endured for many months.

I dip lower, hoping to find a rabbit, a mouse—anything to ease the hunger that has been growing with every passing hour.

A flash of movement and color catch my eye. A small brown shape races in circles, oblivious to my presence above it. It’s not a rabbit (my favorite) or a groundhog, but I’m not picky right now. I dive, grabbing the little animal before it can react, digging my talons into its back as deeply as I can.

It yelps, a sound I’ve never heard before. Nothing like the scream of a rabbit or the squeak of a mouse. It’s so unfamiliar that I look down and almost drop what I’m holding—almost.

I’ve seen these before. Humans walk them on strings, pick them up and cuddle them, feed them and keep them as captives. I’ve always avoided them for that reason—I don’t need to make an enemy of the humans in my area—but in my haste and hunger, I didn’t even notice what I was hunting. This one is an odd shape—it’s very long, with very short legs.

The dog, for I believe that is what they are called, is still yelping. It’s wearing a red band around its neck with a shiny metal disk attached.

“Quiet!” I say, needing to gather my thoughts. The dog is heavy, as heavy as a large rabbit. It smells like food, and it makes me even hungrier, but I’m a little worried about what it might do if it gets a chance to use those sharp little teeth on my body. Perhaps if I can move my talons just so, I can pierce a vital organ or artery and prevent—

“Quiet?! Why the HELL should I be quiet?” The dog sounds fearful and angry at the same time, which I suppose is entirely fair. “I’m a hundred feet above the ground and my back is on fire!”

“Would you like me to kill you now, then?” I ask, irritated. “I could drop you and come back for you to eat later. Or just dig a little deeper with my talons. The choice is yours.”

I’m not usually this cruel, but I also don’t make a habit of talking to my prey. Most of them are paralyzed by fear or already beyond hearing by this point.

The dog doesn’t answer, so I loosen my grip with one foot, ready to drop it onto the rocks flying by below us. It will never survive the fall, and it knows it.

“Wait,” the dog says, terror evident in its voice.

I sigh.

“What now? You’re just prolonging the inevitable.”

“Haven’t you ever been afraid?”

“Of course,” I say, thinking of that first time I stepped out of the nest. The first time a human took a shot at me.

“Think about how that feels. Have some empathy. Please. Take me back to my family.”

I waver, but I’m starting to feel a bit weak from hunger. Who does this dog think they are?

“If it was the summer and I wasn’t starving, I’d consider it,” I say. “But you were unlucky to get picked up at the wrong time. Goodbye.”

I let go with one foot, the dog now dangling precariously over the jagged landscape. I wonder what it will taste like, but as they say, hunger is the best spice…

“WAIT.”

“Really?” I say. “Can’t we just get this over with? I promise it will be quick.”

“Let’s make a deal,” the dog says.

“A deal?” I laugh. “What could you possible offer me that’s better than a meal?”

“How about lots of meals?”

“Well, yes, you’re quite large. I’m sure you’ll last me for more than one meal.” It’s dawning on me that picking up this dog has actually been great luck, despite the trouble it’s giving me. I rarely get this much meat in one hunt.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” the dog says, a note of desperation in its voice. “I mean, we could work together.”

I would grab the back half of the dog again if I could, but it’s not possible. The leg that’s still holding on is starting to cramp up with the weight.

“Talk fast; I’m about to drop you just because of how heavy you are.”

“I can help you hunt rabbits,” the dog says in a rush. “They live under a shed in my yard. I can flush them out for you, you grab them.”

I pause. This is surprisingly tempting.

“What about your human? Will they shoot at me?”

“Not my human. I’ve never seen her even kill a spider.”

“How do I know you’ll keep up your part of the bargain?” I ask, suspicious.

“Because I know if I don’t, you’ll just come and pick me up again,” the dog says. “Forgive me, but this isn’t a nightmare I’d like to repeat.”

I think in silence for a moment. I don’t have long to consider the offer, though, the dog’s oddly shaped body is starting to slip from my talons.

“All right. You have a deal.”

I hurtle toward the ground and hear the dog yelping all the way down. I’m careful to drop it as low as I can, onto a soft mossy patch in the woods.

“I’ll follow you back,” I call out, already dreaming of the rabbit I would soon be enjoying.

The dog’s pace is excruciating. It’s hard work for me to fly so slow, but I have to keep the creature in sight beneath me. Cursing myself for flying so far from where I’d picked the dog up, I am starting to think the dog has been messing from the beginning. Eventually, though, I start seeing the neat square lots rolling out beneath me and I know we’re close.

The dog reaches a yard that looks like all the others and shimmies under a portion of the fence with a small gap. Looking up and seeing me flying, I can tell it’s unhappy that I’ve managed to follow it all the way home.

“Flush one out now,” I say, “I can’t wait anymore.”

The dog looks weary, and I see the marks my talons have made on its back but I don’t care at this point. Hunger is calling the shots now. It scuttles over to the shed and slips into yet another opening underneath the structure. Seconds later, a huge rabbit leaps out and I’m on it in seconds. As I fly away, I call out to the dog.

“Hey, I didn’t get your name!”

“Churro!” A human voice calls out with a note of panic. “Churro, where are you?”

As I glance over my shoulder, I see a human gathering the dog up in her arms, covering its face with kisses.

"Churro, be careful! You don't want to get picked up by a hawk, do you?"

I fly away laughing, taking note of the location for future reference. Churro and I haven't seen the last of each other yet. But for now, I’m off to finally enjoy my meal.