A Murder in Winter
By Lori Fontanes
Listen to a reading of this story by Lori Fontanes:
I’m going to start from the end. It’s a happy ending.
You don’t have to feel bad for me because this, the second time, I feel kind of foolish. No, stupid. And very, very lucky.
I can’t stop thinking about the crows.
When we let her out of the cage, the other ducks crowd around Gladys, quacking and clucking with what had to be joy. It’s a ducky sort of download that happens whenever one leaves but then comes back. It gives me joy, too.
There are two little stitches on the side of her neck. They don’t seem to notice.
I do.
Notify the vet hospital if ANY of the following occur:
Loss of appetite
Severe pain
Severe weakness or depression
Duck or me?
The doctor and I go into an examination room and discuss her findings. “It’s pretty deep,” she reports. “I want to stitch.” I quickly sign off. “Whatever you think.”
I’m still coming down from rescue adrenaline.
We talk about the tenacity of raptors. And the sharpness of claws.
The hawks seek out songbirds that scavenge in our duck food. If the predator gets lucky, it finds a bigger target, often in a water bowl. (Definition: sitting duck.)
It’s not that a Cooper’s hawk can lift or knock out hefty waterfowl; it’s a question of time. Time enough to do damage.
When I return to the garage, I get a better look at Gladys. There’s a tiny spot of red on her throat.
And now I know which duck.
Even after the raptor gives up, the crows follow.
At first, I thought they were like squirrels and jays, a chorus of prey, harassing the hawk.
Then, I realize.
They’re hungry, too.
I run hot water and place my feet under the faucet. Ouch.
I calculate/analyze/consider. Puff’s bloody ordeal had a Grand Guignol kind of obvious. This time it’s not clear which duck s/he grabbed. Claws and beaks cause hidden damage. Should I wait and see? Will that be too late?
We shuffle into the garage. I can’t feel the bottoms of my feet. As the door chugs down, I see one of the crows watching us. I shout it off.
“Shoo!”
The ducks stagger toward the glass doors to the living room. Maybe they remember this is where I'd let the wounded Puff retreat. With hawk gone and no visible blood, I decide to take the longer way, around the house. The girls follow, wary but willing.
As I look back, I see the hawk sitting on a branch inside a pine tree. It sees me watching and lifts off. Note to self: The pine trees aren’t safe anymore.
The ducks beat me to the gate.
Two things about walking barefoot in the snow:
1) I don’t slide as much as I thought I would.
2) Don’t try this at home.
I can’t figure out which duck is under the hawk. From the upstairs window, I can only see those terrible wings, blocking and holding, and the other birds completely freaked. I don’t wait to see more. Learning a lesson from last time, I stopped wearing socks in the house so I could move fast if necessary. This would be necessary. Only one problem: Winter.
I run to the nearest door, which opens on the snow-covered deck. I step out and scream and the hawk takes to the air. Which is good because I'm still too slow and, luckily, it doesn’t know that. I pick my way onto the crunchy lawn and the ducks flap and flail at me. Gladys heads in the opposite direction, the crusted snow and her own ungainliness working against her.
I don’t see any blood.
Overhead, two crows caw with all too much pleasure.
Last week, I brought the ducks some lettuce and notice a few songbird feathers scattered on the snow. The hawk is back. After scanning sky and trees, I decide to move their bowls deeper under the pines.
Just in case.
It’s February and the cold lingers. At least, the water in the black rubber bowls won’t freeze if I put them in the sun near the pine trees.
Every day I carry two hoses to the yard that can reach the water bowls when combined. I wear special shoes fitted with spikes so I don’t slip on the intractable ice. I go back and forth attaching these hoses to each other and to the faucet on the set tub in the garage. I do this sometimes twice a day.
It’s been more than two months since the first attack.
The almost blizzard is followed by something worse: Ice. We get freezing rain on top of snow and then sleet and more snow. It’s packed so thickly we can’t scrape it off the tarps on top of the pen. Those black tarps that were supposed to absorb the sun and melt the ice. What sun? Later that night, the Weather Channel runs something about the dangers of heavy snow on rooftops.
New plan: ducks in the garage overnight and under the pine trees during the day.
The robins return early and sometimes we get starlings and crows. I love crows.
With the packed snow I can’t close the door to the pen anymore. The ducks can shelter there during the day but they prefer the pines and, frankly, it’s easier to keep the water ice-free on that side of the yard.
I’ve always been a fan of the Corvidae family: jays, ravens, magpies, crows. My daughter hates when I say “murder” of crows.
For weeks, the ducks have stayed in the new pen. We have a new duck in the family and she’s wary of leaving the safety of the covered pen. The flock takes quick supervised trips but mostly appear content to stay in their shelter.
Sometimes the ducks cock their heads and stare at the sky with one-eyed intensity. Sometimes I can see the hawk; sometimes I only hear it.
In early December, Puff survives a hawk attack. I decide to leave the ducks in the pen for the foreseeable future.
In November, we go away for Thanksgiving and leave the ducks with a sitter and their cozy new pen.
In October, we get a new duck pen. It’s big enough for five ducks and tall enough for me to stand in. There’s room for their old coop and the whole structure sits on a slope for easy drainage. The wire mesh roofing is strong but light, attached securely to sturdy metal poles. It’s perfect.
I don’t even think about winter.
Lori Fontanes (fon TAHN iss) is a multi-racial, multi-genre storyteller who writes, teaches & leads. She comes from a family of educators and first responders in working class Philadelphia. Words in/upcoming: 34 Orchard, The Willowherb Review, Flash Nonfiction Food and the Sundance Film Festival among other venues.