Wednesday, October 04, 2006


I was putting out signs for a golf outing the other day when
I came upon a huge hawk stalking a squirrel. The had just
shot up a tree, leaving the hawk on the ground who was now
glaring up at him trying to figure out his next move. I thought
I would do the squirrel a favor and shoo the hawk off. I tossed
some ice cubes from my drink at him, but all it did was switch
his glare from the squirrel to me, the ice tosser. He was only
ten yards from me and when I went eye to eye with him, I
thought that the the ice strategy might have been a poor plan
of attack. The hawk seemed to grow larger by the minute. I got
out of my cart to maybe join the squirrel in the tree, but the
hawk didn't come any closer. This gave me the chance to pick up
some pebbles to throw at him. It became abundantly clear why I
never pitched in the major leagues as the rocks sailed to the left,
to the right, in front of, and over his head. None them phasing the
hawk. I don't think he has any natural enemies and, therefore,
didn't see me as a threat to him, especially with the inaccuracy of
my "wild thing" arm. He starts walking down the cart path to get
a better look at his next meal while I'm scrambling to find something
more intimidating to throw at him. I go into my lunch bag and pull out
a couple of grenades (cokes) and fling them at him. One flies over his
head, but the second coke lands at his feet, spraying him with
carbonated cola and sending him soaring off into the wild blue yonder
in search of a local bird bath.

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