As I knit towards my trip and my sibling reunion next week…

I saw a large crow high-tailing it out of our airspace today, a tiny junco divebombing it again and again with the flicks of its black-and-white tail making exclamation marks in the sky while the crow was dodging out of its way: You stay away from my babies!

That blur near-center of the second photo–our quail came back, singing alone for a mate and fluttering his wings fetchingly. Michelle wasn’t taken with the idea of naming him Dan Quail; how about Mr. Potatoe Head? (Paragraph 6 under Vice Presidency.)

But meantime.  I learned today how spoiled I am by the professionalism of our falcon folks.

The idea that two men went into a peregrine’s nest, wore no protective headgear, went to band her eyases, and–

–the mind boggles.

I’ve been in the eight-story library across the street from our peregrines and watched one go past so fast that I had to ask someone if I’d actually seen what I’d seen; they’re not kidding when they say they’ve been clocked divebombing at 241 mph.

The Fish and Game guys are holding a livid mama peregrine off while they handle her babies (and normally it would be both parents attacking the intruders vigorously).

With a broom. And that broom ain’t lookin’ too new. And there’s apparently only one for two if not three people; I wonder what the reporter who was taking the photos had on their head?

It’s just not the way to sweep a lady off her feet.