The Worm Has Turned
I love to golf. Sometimes you see mammals on the course such as deer, but usually it's the birds who are the heroes of the fairways. Ducks breed in the ponds, nighthawks cry in the pines and eagles soar like emperors.
My ladies' group was on its way down the fourth fairway and I was hovering over a ball with my eight-iron when I happened to see a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. Now how could you hit a golf ball with a huge male fox lumbering parallel to the brook behind us? There was a huge commotion beginning over him as a murder of crows came streaming in his general direction. The fox dipped and weaved, finally crossing a bridge (the place where Marg has lost a new ball). He was nearly over and on his way back to the woods and safety when I hear another cry from the pond up by the green.
A mallard drake was out for blood. He nearly crashed my left shoulder too (wak! waaack! wak!) and I was the one dipping to give him access to his target, Mr. Fox. What the crows could not do this low-flying squadron of one had accomplished. He crashed into the mammal so viciously that the group behind us ran to save the fox. By then we were all screaming and flapping, not knowing if we could stop the melee. The fox scrambled for the brush, stumbling and bumbling, and with the duck following, half on the wing and sometimes landing to launch again.
By then a groundsman was on the spot. I didn't know the little golf buggies could go so fast. Man with a shovel, eight women pleading for the fox. The fox cowered, gathered his second wind and went into a hole. Mixed emotions. He must be the one taking the baby ducklings, and the neighborhood cats. Still. Mixed emotions. I hope the club will hire a humane trapper and move the guy. But where? Spoiled my round, too. I had an eight on that hole.
more stories:
https://www.backyardchickens.com/web/viewblog.php?id=7693-Chickenspeak
I love to golf. Sometimes you see mammals on the course such as deer, but usually it's the birds who are the heroes of the fairways. Ducks breed in the ponds, nighthawks cry in the pines and eagles soar like emperors.
My ladies' group was on its way down the fourth fairway and I was hovering over a ball with my eight-iron when I happened to see a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. Now how could you hit a golf ball with a huge male fox lumbering parallel to the brook behind us? There was a huge commotion beginning over him as a murder of crows came streaming in his general direction. The fox dipped and weaved, finally crossing a bridge (the place where Marg has lost a new ball). He was nearly over and on his way back to the woods and safety when I hear another cry from the pond up by the green.
A mallard drake was out for blood. He nearly crashed my left shoulder too (wak! waaack! wak!) and I was the one dipping to give him access to his target, Mr. Fox. What the crows could not do this low-flying squadron of one had accomplished. He crashed into the mammal so viciously that the group behind us ran to save the fox. By then we were all screaming and flapping, not knowing if we could stop the melee. The fox scrambled for the brush, stumbling and bumbling, and with the duck following, half on the wing and sometimes landing to launch again.
By then a groundsman was on the spot. I didn't know the little golf buggies could go so fast. Man with a shovel, eight women pleading for the fox. The fox cowered, gathered his second wind and went into a hole. Mixed emotions. He must be the one taking the baby ducklings, and the neighborhood cats. Still. Mixed emotions. I hope the club will hire a humane trapper and move the guy. But where? Spoiled my round, too. I had an eight on that hole.
more stories:
https://www.backyardchickens.com/web/viewblog.php?id=7693-Chickenspeak
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