zenzalei

This morning when I went out to the balcony I found this:

There were also piles of Mourning Dove feathers in the corners along the wall. There was no body, so at first I wasn’t sure what had happened and I made the emotionally scarring decision to find a video of a Hawk catching prey to see if that might have been the case. Oh, dear Fate and Universe, I am 99% sure that’s what happened. Barring outside interference, Hawks pluck the prey’s feathers where they catch the prey, usually while the prey is still breathing its last, and then once the prey dies, they carry it off to the nest or a tree to eat or feed to their babies.

If you know me or have even read more than a couple of my entries, you can imagine how all of this ripped my heart out. I spent the better part of the day fearing the Dove had been Stormy, the little one that appeared on the balcony railing during a sudden and violent summer storm a few months after Inigo died and is never far from me. That a Hawk caught and killed a Dove a few feet from me as I was sleeping, and that I slept through it was unimaginable, but perhaps that means it happened mercifully quickly.

That it’s my fault by drawing so many birds near to me, and thus attracting the attention of the Hawk, is unbearable. Yes, I know Hawks have to eat, too. In fact, around here it’s better for the Hawks to eat birds than rodents because so many people like those who make the decisions for groundskeeping here use those odious rat boxes. Most of the rodents who eat the bait don’t actually stay in the box. They go off thinking they had a meal, and then they die a gruesome, painful, days-long and lingering death by internal bleeding because the poison is an anticoagulant. Any predator who catches and eats a poisoned rodent also gets the anticoagulant effects of the poison and suffers the same fate. Someone in a neighborhood FB group found a dead Hawk down the block from me, perhaps this Hawk’s mate. It was by the side of the road so it may have been struck by a car, but she said there didn’t seem to be any broken bones, so it might also have been from eating a poisoned rodent. But just because Hawks have to eat, that doesn’t mean I want them killing birds on my balcony.

I already had a discussion with this one, actually, last week. I think it’s a Cooper’s. It landed on in the Crepe Myrtle right next to the Peregrine decoy (which really needs to be moved because it’s not doing anything), and I reminded it, loudly, that I’m the apex predator around here and it needed to hunt in the park or along the trail. People often confuse Cooper’s Hawks with Sharp-Shinned Hawks but Shinnies tend to live in forests and don’t eat larger birds like Mourning Doves, instead sticking to songbirds like Sparrows and Chickadees. Cooper’s would also make sense because not only do they tend to live in more urban areas and eat larger birds like Doves, they also eat rodents and small mammals and I have not seen a single squirrel since before Christmas, which is really unusual. Last winter there were four who always came by. Two, Sparky and Rascal, died last summer, one from that blasted rat poison and the other from a car. Two black ones, Midnight and Shadow, disappeared early last Fall. Sunny’s friend got hit by a car before I could name him, which left Sunny, who disappeared before Christmas, and I haven’t seen a squirrel on the property since.

It turned out that the Dove was not Stormy, as she and her mate appeared in their spot in the Maple tree out front this afternoon. But it was a member of the Mourning Dove flock whose members come to the balcony before first light and again at sunset, and sun themselves on the railing and my bedroom windowsill on and off throughout the day. My guess is that it might have been the Dove who flew into the window yesterday. It might have been slow to flee when the Hawk swooped in.

This morning as I cleaned the balcony, the Sparrows and Northern Mockingbirds all flew to the trees and watched me expectantly. I collected a few of the fallen Dove’s feathers, then swept the rest off the balcony to be carried away by the wind. The birds watched me, and watched the feathers drift through the air. They dispersed when I brought out the bucket of water, like they always do because they know there will be no vittles if the Bird Lady is cleaning. I thought they might not come back, nor the Doves, but this afternoon they all came around. When I went out there for some air, the Sparrows flew up from the holly hedges into the trees to watch me, and the Mockingbirds landed on the livingroom windowsill. When I went inside, the Mourning Doves came to the balcony and pecked at the bare concrete. The Sparrows came down, too, and began walking in circles, confused by the lack of food.

I felt terrible for them, so I did a supervised feeding. They all devoured the food in less than three minutes with me watching from the doorway, inside broom in hand, ready to run out and let any predators know I was there. At 5:30 I took a break from working and the Doves were again pecking at the ground and the Mockingbirds were on the railing. I did another supervised feeding, this time including a water tray, and the water tray was even more popular than the food. The Mockingbirds were super thirsty for some reason. I guess they don’t resort to snow when there’s no water around like the other birds.

All but the Doves took off after there was no more food to eat. It seemed the Doves didn’t want to leave, even when I went to the doorway, and a few of them looked like they were settling down to roost for the night on the windowsill. Two firetrucks were parked across the street, red lights flashing, and they seemed a bit nervous by all the commotion, but I couldn’t let them stay there. I opened the door and off they flew to the three broadleaf evergreen trees on the property where the Mockingbirds and Blue Jays also sleep.

I won’t be putting seeds out before I go to bed like I usually do. I’d rather not feed them at all for a week or so, and let the Hawk find somewhere else to hunt, like the park a block away. But these birds are going to be around no matter what. The Sparrows live in one giant holly bush at the entrance to the property, the Mockingbirds live in the broadleafs, and the Doves hang out in the bare Maple trees. They’re not going to disperse like they do in suburbia. There are too many people around who leave too much for them to scavenge. And Mourning Doves, much as I love them, are a bit obstinate. They’ll be the last to leave unless there’s a deterrent.

So instead I’m going to put out my big broom, the one with orange bristles and orange grips on the handle that I use to clean the balcony concrete. The birds don’t like that broom at all, so hopefully no one will get the idea to come around before I get up. For added measure, I’m going to tape up a few pictures of Owl decoys. That should at least keep the Doves and songbirds away until I get up. If they want breakfast, they’re going to have to wait for me to supervise them.

Tonight I will think of the Mourning Dove who died this morning as I add his or her feathers to those that came to me through more gentle means. Rest in peace, little one. Your hardship this winter is over.