A squirrel cowered under the picnic table. I looked at it, back up to the fence, and decided to let nature take its dinner course and eased quietly away from the windows so as not to interfere.
Coopernicus swooped in to the top of that table among the amaryllis buds and blossoms–and with the hawk now out of its sight, the squirrel popped right out from the leg of a chair and back to sniffing for full seeds on the patio amongst the pecked-out hulls.
With his tail and wings tucked in behind him that Cooper’s hawk didn’t look much bigger than that squirrel. I know he sometimes goes after them. But no–I guess squab was on the menu again tonight, not ribs, and after a full minute’s consideration the hawk turned for something on the wing, and away.