Mr. Squawky and Mr. Spearface

Once upon a time about a week ago, Mark said he heard something in the back yard that sounded like a pterodactyl call.  Ignoring the thought that Mark associating a noise back to cave man time meant he is much, much older than I’d previously thought, I grabbed my camera, walked down to the water’s edge and saw this.

The cause of the squawking down by the water.

I got closer and took another photo.

Mr. Squawky is a blue heron.

I went around the willow tree for a better look.

Mr. Squawky hasn't seen me yet.

Then, he saw me.

Mr. Squawky looking directly at me and squawking.

I zoomed in on Mr. Squawky’s head.

Mr. Squawky staring at me.

I zoomed in on his long, impressive toes, too.

Mr. Squawky's long toes.

And even though everything pointy about him intimidated me, I stepped into the open for one more shot.

Mr. Squawky, still squawking at me. Check out that tongue!

Mr. Squawky flew off in a squawky snit after that. 

Now, while that was the last I saw of Mr. Squawky, two nights later, I looked out into the back yard and saw this.

A blue heron in my backyard.

This blue heron was a little more mottled in color than Mr. Squawky, and there was something about the way it stared at my brush pile that got me thinking.  I ran off to get my Audubon book about birds and learned that blue herons will eat small mammals, like voles, mice, shrews and chipmunks.  I’ve photographed each of those in our backyard before.  In fact, two chipmunks will take peanuts right out of my hand.

One of my chipmunk pals.

As illogical as it may be, I couldn’t stomach the heron eating one of my chipmunk pals.  So like most normal people, I went out onto my deck and waved at the heron to scare it off.

Heron leaving my back yard.

The thing about this heron is that it came back into the yard three more times.  And each time, I went outside on to my deck and waved my arms around.  I named this heron Mr. Spearface.  And I had to tell Mr. Spearface that eating my friends would put me into therapy but that he could hunt in the back part of the yard where I don’t have any friends.

Two nights later, Mr. Spearface heeded my advice and came creeping into the yard.  I watched him for a good few minutes as he slowly moved his way across the yard, stalking his prey like a cat. 

Mr. Spearface hunting at the very back of my yard.

He stopped moving and held still for a good five minutes before giving up, fluffing up his feathers and marching back out of the yard. 

Mr. Spearface on his way out of the yard.

I bid him adieu and better hunting next time, hopefully, somewhere else.

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