Just before Thanksgiving, I nearly ran over a flock of wild turkeys in Belmont, a suburb just west of Boston. I joked to my passenger that if I hadn’t already bought our turkey I would haven’t have stopped the car.
This afternoon I came home to a young Cooper’s hawk in the backyard with a fresh kill. The hawk and I watched each other. Then he flew off with his prey, low just clearing the neighbor’s stockade fence.
Instincts, Maternal & Otherwise 