Star-schmucks
I have just seen my first contrail of the week. I guess that means the world is heading back for normality, but I will miss the pure skies and quiet.
I'm ensconced at Starbucks in Paternoster Square. No sign yet of the Harris Hawks and their handlers.
The coffee tastes of burnt caramel, which is poor even by Starbucks limited standards. Even the muffin is a disappointment; bland and dry. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Starbucks, Star-schmucks.
I spy a few pigeons tucked away here and there around the square.
Ahhh... Here come the hawks...
The pigeons scatter to new roosts, but the hawks aren't too interested in chasing them. They're fed tidbits each time they return to a handler so I guess they lack a hunter's instinct honed by hunger.
Watching the proceedings I gather that catching and killing pigeons isn't the name of the game. I suppose the tourists (though the Peacocks are absent at this hour) wouldn't be entertained by real blood and guts.
I notice a pair of pigeons swoop across the square directly over where the hawks are perching. A minute later the pigeons fly back the other way, lower. The hawks are watching, but stay put. With amazement I realize the pigeons are taunting the hawks, flying back and forth swooping closer to the hawks each time.
Tickled to see this reversal of roles I depart Star-schmucks and head to the office.
I'm ensconced at Starbucks in Paternoster Square. No sign yet of the Harris Hawks and their handlers.
The coffee tastes of burnt caramel, which is poor even by Starbucks limited standards. Even the muffin is a disappointment; bland and dry. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Starbucks, Star-schmucks.
I spy a few pigeons tucked away here and there around the square.
Ahhh... Here come the hawks...
The pigeons scatter to new roosts, but the hawks aren't too interested in chasing them. They're fed tidbits each time they return to a handler so I guess they lack a hunter's instinct honed by hunger.
Watching the proceedings I gather that catching and killing pigeons isn't the name of the game. I suppose the tourists (though the Peacocks are absent at this hour) wouldn't be entertained by real blood and guts.
I notice a pair of pigeons swoop across the square directly over where the hawks are perching. A minute later the pigeons fly back the other way, lower. The hawks are watching, but stay put. With amazement I realize the pigeons are taunting the hawks, flying back and forth swooping closer to the hawks each time.
Tickled to see this reversal of roles I depart Star-schmucks and head to the office.
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