Hawk in Hand

I like to walk. Friends know this. Neighbors know this. Dogs know this.

My afternoon trek is never lonely. The present parade down the dirt roads of Teec includes a brown dog named Baby Girl (very, very loyal...that's another story), an extremely ugly black dog left by a retired librarian, a fluffy mixed color dog, and a small brown puppy with a nasal problem (got hit, got repaired, runs wild). Sometimes one or two of the boys in the hood join us on their bikes.

Last night, it was just the dogs and me. We did the 3 mile loop and were on our way back to staff housing, when the puppy ran off in the brush and started chasing something. I stomped over yelling at the pup the whole way. As I got closer, I could make out it was a bird with one wing twisted and bloody off to the side.

I wanted to get it away from the dogs, so instinctually I scooped it up with my bare hands. Big mistake! I realized it was a hawk as it curled claws ripped into the palm of my hand. Part of was shocked with pain, another was amazed at how easily the claws slipped through my skin.

Somehow I managed to get the claws out of me and dropped the bird back on the ground. I slipped out of my sweatshirt and padded the space between me and the bird. It stayed with me through the night...exploring the amazing world of Joe's desk and hot water heater.

As I type, it is in a box next to me. I'll make the journey up to Dolores and a rehab center sometime today. It's an immature Red-tail. Let's hope for a quick recovery.