I have been watching a lot of raptors lately here in Ireland. The local pair of kestrels I see nearly everyday, battling the wind as they hover above the grassy hill, watching for beetles below and getting mobbed by the local hooded crows which take exception to their presence. Every sunny day I see the local pair of buzzards floating around, spying on me if they see me putting out my falcons, all it takes is a simple flap of the wings and instantly they are interested. They climb higher and higher with no effort, floating on those broad wings, but always staying above me in case something interesting happens. If they are expecting me to feed them also, they may think again as I have enough raptor dependents bleeding me dry already without the wild ones eating into my food bill!
I do like watching them fly, although float may be a better word to describe their lazy energy saving style. When the Europeans went to America and saw the black and turkey vultures floating around the skies, they naturally enough, but wrongly, referred to them as buzzards. I used to love old western movies and for some strange reason, every time I see a buzzard now I always think of John Wayne or Slim Pickens, after shooting some human low-life in the gut, lean off his horse, gob up a mouthful of tobaccy and say something like; “That double-crossin’ no-good varmint, leave ‘im there in the sun for the God-damn buzzards.”
Sometimes I wonder if watching birds is affecting my mental balance!
A couple of days ago I was driving down the main road, chatting on the phone to a friend and had to stop all conversation as a merlin sped across in front of the jeep, flipped over a sheep fence and I watched as it accelerated to turbo velocity across the field. I watch it as it disappeared out of sight.
Only then did I look back at the road.
Feckin’ birds, they’ll be the death of me yet!
Tom