When we returned from Yellowstone, we could hear the little hawks screeching. No doubt Rufous and Henrietta have flown away, leaving the fledgling hawks to fend for themselves. Following the piteous little eeee-eww cries, I tracked down Curly and Moreen. Curly was perched on the low branch of a live oak, grasping his catch with both talons.
I watched as he tore off pieces of the meal with his beak, uttering an occasional low ek-ek. Moreen also watched from a distance, high in the tree above Curly, and screamed in protest for a portion – eeee-eww! – but Curly was not in a sharing mood.
Continue to Chapter 19: Predators in Training
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