No RespectPosted: August 29, 2013
Mom wheeled into the living room this morning and waved hello to me as I was on my way to the kitchen to get her breakfast ready. She parked for a few reflective moments in the dining room and gazed out the big picture window into the backyard.
“There’s a big crow or something splashing around in the birdbath,” she called out to me.
“I know,” I replied, pouring OJ into a glass. “It’s a hawk.”
“No it’s not,” she countered.
“Yes it is, Mom,” I argued. “He’s been coming around for almost a month now, but usually he doesn’t show up until late afternoon. This is the first time I’ve see him in the morning.”
“Well, how do you know it’s a hawk?” she asked. “It looks too big to be a hawk. And besides, they don’t land, they circle. And they live up high. I can’t believe a hawk would just land in a birdbath. I didn’t think they even liked water.”
“Well this one does,” I said, coming into the room with her banana and granola bar. “And it really pisses off the rest of the birds. There’s a mockingbird that sits on the back of the patio chair and tweets and chirps and complains right in his face. We’ve even watched a pair of hummingbirds go after him, flying circles around his head. They sit in the Palo Verde and play tag-team. It’s pretty funny.”
“See, that’s just proof it isn’t really a hawk. A real hawk wouldn’t let that happen,” she exclaimed with a huff. “It would pounce on them and kill them and eat them.”
“Mom, it can’t pounce while it’s perched on the birdbath. It can’t get up enough steam fast enough to catch anything. It would have to be airborne already do to any damage. Those birds know they’re safe as long as he’s sitting down. That’s why they bitch at him and why Bill named him Rodney.”
“Rodney?” she asked, wheeling away into the living room.
“Yeah, like Rodney Dangerfield. He gets no respect.”
“I guess,” she muttered as she parked and transferred herself to her spot on the loveseat. “Is he a friend of yours?”
“No, Mom, he’s was a famous comedian. He died several years ago.”
“Oh, okay. But I still don’t think it’s a real hawk.”
“No? Then what? A stuffed hawk?” I asked sarcastically.
“No, not stuffed. Just not real. More like a crow that sort of looks like a hawk, maybe.”