A discarded, delicately veined feather of a plucked titmouse.
We watched a small hawk (Sharp-shinned or Cooper's - it was stationery) standing on a log plucking feathers from its dinner a few nights ago. It didn't leave much else at the scene of the crime when I combed the site the next morning for clues to the story.
Amidst the variety of feathers, I found one intricately scaled claw and part of its bill, being carried away by an ambitious ant.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI1TnGeduuyV2c8WkawrKtnttOjBK1xnZV45zJGWIjalbpMHy55ID69T1Vt9EmAYTiaqMs9hOPAL5efRxnzCr44HcsarbsM94agSZl5ydkFw-nmINaEvCUSjaK_MU7BXgfQpF20dVGcHwwW5IuxxRCQM2cfgsntYsk5H2SNwjSnnxdUfH3N6SB4ptx/w315-h380/PXL_20220512_152406024.PORTRAIT.jpg)
1 comment:
Survival of the fittest.
Post a Comment