So I am minding my own business upstairs early one morning. (Actually I am still slumbering in my bed and not entirely awake.) I
hear this strange calling in the garden and immediately it comes to my slow mind
that a starling is screaming.
So I open the curtains and peer out. In the shadow of the
ancient hedgerow that still survives between rows of house, and which forms the
back boundary of the garden, stands a large golden brown bird. Pinned beneath the
large feet of this distinctly leggy bird of prey and struggling for its life
and, indeed, screaming is a juvenile starling. All the other flock members have long
departed.
The sparrowhawk seems in no hurry. The starling is firmly
held.
What should I do?
Many thoughts go through my mind all revolving around the
issue of whether or not I should intervene. This is nature. It may be a
starling from ‘my’ small flock which I have nurtured and fed and tried to guard
from the local cats, but the sparrowhawk has as much right to food as the
starling. The starling may already be badly hurt (the sparrowhawk has very long
sharp talons on its big feet) better it is dispatched quickly, than I make some
addled attempt to save it which might cause more suffering.
[more tomorrow]
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