But they do have their advocates. There’s even a bird-watching group who spends time observing them.
A few years go, when a nest was dismantled from the eave of a Fifth Avenue building, hawk lovers went nuts, picketing, calling the newspapers. The evicted hawk family just went down the block to the Carlyle and built a new one. How smart were they. If you can’t live in your desired home, go to a good hotel. My sentiments exactly.
I was hurrying from the East Side to the West to get my hair trimmed, and who do I see lolling on a low branch but a hawk the size of a fox, and in his talons was a very unfortunate black crow.
OOH…did I get a chill.
It was clearly dead or scared out of its wits since it didn’t move, and I knew he was about to become breakfast…crow over light.
I looked at the hawk, a dead ringer for Angelica Huston (if you were hung over, half asleep or without your glasses) with great disdain. He stared right back, the arrogant shit, as if to say, what are you looking at? Do people stare at you when you’re about to sit down to a meal?
Now I have no deep love for crows, but my heart still opened. If that bird looked remotely alive I would have wrestled it away. I know, how crazy is that. You need to understand I can’t bear to kill anything nor see it in pain. Mr Hawk would have had a nutty though worthy opponent.
Of course, I may have ended up at Lenox Hill Emergency I still owe money to, but it didn’t come to that.
I left before breakfast was served and took an alternate route coming back not wanting to see those hawklike table scraps.
And as my Italian grandfather used to say, evera-ba-dy needs tua eat.
Well, since you put it that way.