I just stepped outside to check the weather and the mail. I walked about 5 steps to see a huge Redtail Hawk flying towards me carrying something in his/her talons. As it swooped above me it dropped what it was carrying. The object flew about 3 inches above my head and landed ON my grill 6 ft. behind me. It is a dove. Seeing that it is still alive, I reach down with the intention of putting it into the bushes to recoup. The thing flys up and hits me square in the face, falls to the ground, then flys off.
All I can think sitting here is Holy Cow ,What just happened.
WAY more bizarre than I can explain.
Yo!
This is the Axiom boards! Don't post about it if you aren't gonna post photos as well!
Sorry no photos. All this took place in a span of about 15 seconds.
I'm beginning to think I just missed lunch.
I once saw a duck (mallard) fly right into a guy's bike spokes while he was riding down to campus. Sometimes there is just no understanding the bird.
Please Please dont even say that.
Maybe a good omen.
. . .or a message from the Gods of Mt. Olympus. Zeus has spoken.
NATURE IS COOL.. you just witnessed an extreme life and death situation between those two animals.. luckily, one got away, and one goes hungry, but YOU WERE THERE. gotta feel a certain level of coolness about that.
plus, its a lot better story than just coming in and screaming,
"THE SKY IS FALLING, THE SKY IS FALLING!!!!"
bigjohn
"NATURE IS COOL.. you just witnessed an extreme life and death situation between those two animals.. luckily, one got away, and one goes hungry, but YOU WERE THERE. gotta feel a certain level of coolness about that."
That is exactly what my first thought was.
As I've sat and thought about it more, I think maybe its Gods way of saying, I'll provide for you when you need it.
Which will have to be pretty soon if I dont get some work in the next week or so.
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I'll provide for you when you need it.
Gee, thanks God... I'm hungry and you drop a dove on my barbeque. That's it... Buddha? Ganeesh? Someone up there got a ribeye?
Bren R.
Did you said, the dove landed on the grill? How cool is that, I think that hawk was trying to tell you something -- Get the BBQ sauce and fired up the grill!
Bren
One may not cut it, but dove is one of my favorite wild game birds to eat.
Mmmmmmmmmm....Dove....... Agggggggghhhh.......
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dove is one of my favorite wild game birds to eat
AMEN brotha!!
man, you need to come on down here and go dove hunting when the season opens(sept 1st). all my buddies got land, and we ALL limit out. we usually get two days worth of bird, then make a 'dove cooking' assembly line. split the breast, lay in a slice of jalapeno, wrap in a bacon strip, and stick a toothpick thru it. throw 'em over a low heat grill burning mesquite, and cook til bacon sizzles.. last year we made up about 8-10 dozen, and had a feast. man, i am starting to water at the mouth just thinkin about it!!
bigjohn
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One may not cut it, but dove is one of my favorite wild game birds to eat.
If albatross and benu are also on the menu, I wouldn't expect your luck to change anytime soon.
Bren R.
>>All I can think sitting here is Holy Cow ,What just happened
And you were just watching. What do you suppose the dove was thinking
How odd is that, Chess? Do ALL Canadians have a weird mallard story? The first time I was 'spotter' on a waterski boat, a mallard flew right into the waterskier's leg!! I didn't know the sign for 'duck alert, duck alert'!!
BTW, clearly a good omen. No doubt in my mind.
Cool Stuff!
We have quite a few Red Talied Hawks around these parts, and I have several feeders out in the yard.
About once or twice a month a Hawk will come down and nail a dove feeding on the ground by the feeders, and take off with it.
One day I was standing at the window, and one came down and nailed a Sparrow right on the feeder, right in front of the window. All I could think of was, "Damn, that's what I call a Bird Feeder!"
Gotta love that nature thing.
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I didn't know the sign for 'duck alert, duck alert'!!
Having been a water ski instructor on Lake George, NY, I'm very familiar with this "sign." While the boat is bouncing over the waves, the spotter must perch on one leg, and frantically flap the elbows while quacking as loudly as possible. I have heard that this "sign" has been officially discontinued due to the loss of too many spotters. They tend to be thrown overboard when attempting it.
We don't have any birds in Minnesota. They all froze to death.
We do hear the canadian geese flying over with the change of season, though. They are probably attracted to the sweet sound of those Ontario speakers.
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Having been a water ski instructor on Lake George, NY
I swear, someday I'm just gonna drive to Cleveland (Never thought I'd say that) and keep buying you beers until you tell me your whole life's story.
I'm not Canadian, but I have a mallard story that I love to share. I apologize in advance for the length. I will make it as short as I can, but it won’t be easy.
I live in an apartment complex that, at one time, had a large and lovely swimming pool. Sadly, it has since been removed. I had become home to a mallard family that would return every spring to give birth to their young. So, all the residents were quite accustomed to seeing a mother and a number of young ones waddling around the complex all summer.
One soft, warm summer night, long about 11 PM, I heard unusually loud and frantic quacking from the mother. The quacking wasn’t all that unusual, but the length of time it went on was. Finally, I had to go see what was going on.
Just across the street from my townhouse. The mother stood, still quacking and pacing back and forth on the curb. I could hear the little ones peeping but I couldn’t see them. As I walked closer to the mother, I realized the little ones had fallen through a sewer grate into the sewer itself. I later learned a rattling tow truck had slowly cruised past just as mom and kids were crossing the street, and the mother led her little ones across the grate in a hurried attempt to get out of the way.
The sewer was a 3 foot wide round hole that only descended 4 or 5 feet into the ground before making a 90 degree turn and running down the street along the curb. So, I could see several of the babies just below me, but a few had wandered into the tunnel. How many I didn’t know.
I was soon joined by a number of other residents who had been alarmed by the racket mom was making. We first tried to remove the grate, but resurfacing had firmly cemented in it place. We spent a lot of time trying a number of unsuccessful methods of retrieving the babies, including tying a string to each corner of a handkerchief, which gave us a crude net that we lowered into the sewer. This however required the cooperation of the youngsters who would have to waddle onto the handkerchief so we could lift them out. I believe we actually got one of them out with this method. Amazing!
While we were trying our desperate tactics, the mother remained only a few feet away from us pacing back and forth in distress. I was awed by the motherly instinct overcoming her natural fear of humans. At last, she could stand it no longer, and she just flew away.
Finally the offending tow truck came around again and, feeling guilty about his complicity in the tragedy, hooked on to the grate and popped it off. One particularly brave young man dropped down into the sewer and carefully retrieved all the little quackers, which we plopped into a cardboard box.
But now, where was mom? By this time it was one o’clock in the morning and everyone began drifting off to get some sleep. We just left the box on the side of the road expecting, hoping, that the mother would return and tip it over to retrieve her young. I sat on my stoop waiting to see if this happened, but no luck.
Around 2 AM I happened to see the mother fly in and land in the pool, so I grabbed the box and headed over there. I placed the box on the ground not far from the pool, expecting the mother to hear the peeping and come over to get her babies. Mom quacked; the babies peeped. Mom quacked; the babies peeped. Mom quacked; the babies peeped. Nothing happened. It finally dawned on this experienced ornithologist that the kids were hardwired to come to the mother, and not the other way around. So, I gently tipped the box over, and sure enough, the little ones made a beeline for the still quacking mother, peeping loudly all the way. They struggled through about 30 feet of grass, ducked under the chain link fence surrounding the pool, crossed the 10 foot wide cement apron around the pool and plopped into the water right in front of the mother. As long as I live, I will remember the chucker she emitted when those babies hit the pool. I don’t mean to anthropomorphize the whole thing, but I have never heard a sound like that chucker before or since. No one will ever convince me that she wasn’t expressing joy and relief.
It was, far and away, one of the most satisfying experiences of my life. It becomes even stranger when I admit that I was a duck hunter for many years. I don’t hunt anymore.
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I swear, someday I'm just gonna drive to Cleveland (Never thought I'd say that) and keep buying you beers until you tell me your whole life's story.
It would bore you to death, but I would be most glad to see you.
I was a ski instructor for only one summer when I was 16. My brother, who is 9 years older than I, ran the ski school for two years. He had me come up and drive the boat for the lessons. In addition to our regular school, we had a contract with this huge resort hotel (The Sagamore, I think) that was on an island in the lake. We had two boats, so one would stay at the dock at our school, and my brother and I would take the other and head over to the Sagamore. I was bored to death, while he schmoozed all the young beautiful female hotel guests. Occasionally we even gave a lesson or two.
cool duck story jack. surprised she wasnt peckin at you guys.. we got some river ducks that hang down by the city golf course, and they are some mean bastards. they will nip at your legs, and several will hunch up, spread their wings, and run at you. i did see one guy try and fend them off with his putter. now that was entertaining.
bigjohn
Jack - what a neat story! Mama and babies doing just fine! How cool is that?
***************ROAD TRIP*****************
Mark -stop in Rochester on the way and pick me up. We'll play a round of golf, turn west and head straight on 'til morning, using the ambrosia (some call it beer) flowing until we make landfall in Cleveland!
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until we make landfall in Cleveland
from what i see on TV, you might need to bring a snow shovel!
i saw a deal on the weather channel saying that they got another 2-3 inches of snow this past weekend, bringing their seson total to over 105 inches.. thats supposed to be a new record.
just by comparison, i dont think san angelo saw 105 inches of snow in the entire 20th century.
bigjohn
I think a trip to church is in order.
I hear that the lucky duck victims are issued bracelets for future occurrences of this afflication:
See? Jack already told one beer-worthy story!
bray,
Amazing true-life adventure. Speaking of lunch, if you'd fired up the grill, I'm told a dove tastes just like squab (4-week-old pigeon). Kidding, kidding. . . .
Regards,
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i saw a deal on the weather channel saying that they got another 2-3 inches of snow this past weekend, bringing their seson total to over 105 inches.. thats supposed to be a new record.
Yup. Broke the old record of 103+ inches. Last year came in at #5 all time, and two years ago came in at #4. Need I say that the last 3 winters have been real stinkers? Of course, our Canadian friends are just laughing at that meager total.
Here's the ironic thing. The land on the West side of Cleveland (where I live) is relatively flat, and is, in fact, the beginning of the great plains that stretch all the way to the rockies. The land on the East side is higher and hillier being actually where the foothills of the Appalachians begin (or end depending which way your heading), and thus gets measurably greater amounts of snow than the West side.
The airport, where the official snow measurements are taken, is on the West side. So the folks on the East side of town just shake their heads over the official totals. I think, one East side town reported 175 inches this year.
Mark, all it takes to have beer worthy stories is a few beers, and a lot of years.
Neither is a particularly noteworthy accomplishment. But, that doesn't mean the stories can't be fun to tell, and to hear.
P.S. Right now it's sunny and 74 degrees, and there's nary a flake on the ground anywhere.
I know the hawk/dove story will be in my head for life. Good campfire story.
I also have a bald eagle/wood duck story that is good, but not as bizzare.
That's an amazing story! The reunion must have been the most poignant moment. There's something so 'together' about little chicks, isn't there? There were 13 of them born on Ian's mom's dockstep (like a doorstep but it leads up from the lake instead of the road) last year, and they were just amazing to watch when they were sleeping. About 7 of them on the bottom, and the rest would pile on top. Then one on the bottom would get feeling squished, and he'd wriggle up through the pile to the top, and on and on.
"It was, far and away, one of the most satisfying experiences of my life. It becomes even stranger when I admit that I was a duck hunter for many years. I don’t hunt anymore. "
What a great story!
Will somebody give that Guy a set of Speakers or something?
heh, heh, heh...
TjB
Oh GAD! Lets not go there again.
I'm gonna go find some ducks to save.
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What a great story!
Will somebody give that Guy a set of Speakers or something?
SB
made me laugh out loud thnx