(C) Daily Kos This story was originally published by Daily Kos and is unaltered. . . . . . . . . . . Fishbreath, and dodging a cardiac event [1] ['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.'] Date: 2023-10-26 The good news is that I didn't have a heart attack. So I came home from work early a few days ago, mid-afternoon, thinking I could put in yet another hour on the woodpile. We had a 7 face-cord load delivered late last week, and had stacked maybe three quarters of it in the big outdoor wood rack on the north side of the house, or one of the two smaller racks inside the garage. I wanted to get the rest of that load out of the way so I could call to have the second, 5 face-cord load delivered. Once that's squared away I still have a couple cord more to collect and bring home. Reading that you may be thinking, 'Wheeeew that sounds like a shit-ton of wood', and it is. But our house is fairly large, we live on an island in the St. Lawrence River in northern NY state, wood provides 90% of our heat, and we keep our house warm and toasty all winter long—even when it's thirty below.We have to; we're both seventy, my wife's personal thermostat has gotten unreliable over the years, and I have barely enough body fatto make a batch of cookies . . . for you non-bakers out there, that's usually about one stick of butter. So, uncover the pile, see that the heavy tarp kept most of the rain off. Good. To work. What is left is the backside and ends of the pile—the stuff furthest from where it is to be stacked. The fastest and most efficient thing to do is grab chunks of wood and hurl them into a pile near the rack. Then grab that now close-by wood and stack it; this saves dozens of trips trudging back and forth. I barely got started, and was about to hurl a 20 inch long hickory log when I had to stop myself mid-throw because Fishbreath had come to help me. Fishbreath earned that nickname with his (her?) endless appetite for dead minnows from the bait tank. We also call her (him?) Crowface, Mr Crow, Missus Crow,and most often You Stupid Fucking Bird. The crow came to us in early summer, a scrawny, bedraggled juvenile with extremely bad feathers,no particular ability to fly, and not particularly bright prospects as a Roadkill Scholar. Now he (we mostly use he because of his loud Crowsplaining, poor grooming and dietary choices, and his obsession with the gas grill) is older, free to live in the wild and murder up with his friends, still has shitty feathers, isn't a particularly adept flyer, and wants to live with us. Preferably in the house. Forever. So anyway Crow flies in to help—as defined by hopping over to the last piece of wood I threw and pecking at it to either see if it is food, or punish it for landing with more grace than he generally manages. So now I have to chuck my next chunk to a different spot so I don't hit him. Sigh. Why not chase it away you ask? This bird has the single-mindedness of a particularly bratty toddler.I am literally throwing lethal missiles a few feet away from him, and he only wants to get closer. I did try yelling (again), with the same futility we have learned to expect; yelling at the wood to stack itself might just have a better chance of success. So I throw wood for a while, and the job is taking longer, with crow help, but I can live with it. Then suddenly Crow jumps up, and with a harsh cry flies over the fence toward the back yard. Thank you, I think, my relief lasting only a brief interval after I've turned away from watching him fly off. Seconds later, he lets out a horrible cry. A howl, actually. My head snaps back around, and I see Crow and a hawk crash to the ground in a frantic, furious tangle of slashing wings and clawed feet. Both are screaming-shrieking-now, and by then so am I as I bolt across scattered firewood for the back gate. . . which isn't there any more. We had to take the big, easy to open back gate, and the fence around it down to let a tree trimmer truck into our back yard. The hole was filled with two big extruded aluminum panels for the time being to keep the dog in; a whole new fence and gate is being considered for the spring. The panels are tied to posts driven in the ground. Ten, maybe even five years ago I could have vaulted over them, but even with the sudden gallon of adrenaline blasting through me I never consider that option. I try to wrestle the panels out of the way to get through. I manage to wrench them apart enough to slip through (still screaming at the hawk to leave my stupid fucking crow alone!) and lurch breathlessly to where they are locked in mortal combat on the ground. My wife and I have been doing wildlife rehab for around 15 years. I have handled everything from tiny baby screech owls to full adult bald eagles, and Rule 1 for dealing with raptors is instinctive: get control of their feet! That proves to be complicated. Crow seems to know Rule #1 as well as I do: he's got a death-grip on one of the hawk's lower legs. I try to separate them, still screaming and cursing in English as they do the same in Crow and Hawk. Finally I get then disentangled. Crow staggers off, manages to get airborne, flies drunkenly away. I snatch up both of the hawk's legs,lurch to my feet and stand there, reeling and swaying as more adrenaline than I've had buzz through me in decades drains out faster than a shot-gunned beer can, leaving me gasping and hyperventilating. I want to check on Crow, but first I have to deal with this winged motherfucker. I stare at the hawk. It glares at me in fury, promising death by beak and talon if the opportunity arises. I am still pumped-and crazed-enough for the thought of twisting its head off to flit (faster than the Crow, more slowly than a Chickadee)through my addled brain. Instead I carry it out through the hole I made, around to the rehab shed, and stuff it into a hardshell carrier. I stumble into the house, huffing and wheezing like I've just run a marathon as the pack a day septuagenarian I am and collapse into my chair . . . much to the alarm of my wife, who has been on the phone, seen or heard none of my spastic ballet, and has had several unnerving experiences of me suffering fairly serious injuries, and though even on the verge of passing (or bleeding) out, insisting that I am just fine, I only need several of the largest Band-aids we have in the house. When I can breathe again I explain. The hawk was set free. We hope it was provided sufficient negative reinforcement to keep it avoiding our yard for some time to come. Crow has been a bit spooky, but the next day helped me with the wood I didn't get to because of his rescue. In retrospect I wonder if Crow could have prevailed. His kind are predators of a sort, and he was no helpless, hapless pigeon. Every bite the hawk took would have netted it a beak-full of crappy feathers, whereas Crow would have gone for the eyes. Most likely they would have savagely injured each other and we would have ended up nursing them both back to health. A few weeks back we still had a near-release young robin in rehab. I went to one of the gardens to pull some weeds, and using a trowel, find some tasty young worms for it. Crow came to help, stealing a share of the worms I uncovered,trying to steal the trowel whenever I put it down, and generally being a pain in the ass. So then, to make things even more interesting, a recently released pigeon comes whistling down and lands on my head. There I am, on my knees in the mud, digging worms with crow help and a pigeon on my head, thinking: Most people don't live like this. If they did, they'd have the good sense to wonder where the hell they went wrong. As I said in the beginning, at least I didn't have a heart attack, so I guess that gives the story of the Crow and Hawk event a happy ending . . although yesterday when we went out onto the back porch for a late-afternoon cup of coffee, after turning away a few seconds, I caught Fishbreath drinking out of my cup. That stupid fucking bird. Sometimes I could just kill him. [END] --- [1] Url: https://www.dailykos.com/stories/2023/10/26/2201876/-Fishbreath-and-dodging-a-cardiac-event?pm_campaign=front_page&pm_source=latest_community&pm_medium=web Published and (C) by Daily Kos Content appears here under this condition or license: Site content may be used for any purpose without permission unless otherwise specified. via Magical.Fish Gopher News Feeds: gopher://magical.fish/1/feeds/news/dailykos/