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As I burbled to Nancy about
the wonderful Willows at Christmas only
moments after I'd been burbling about rough-legged
hawks and northern harriers putting on a show at
Plum Island, she laughed and pointed out that those
hawks would eat my beloved fictional vermin!
Somehow it's hard to think of little
waistcoat-wearing, English-speaking moles and rats
being hawk food. Come to think of it, the willows
seem remarkably free of raptors, accipiters, buteos
and other aerial predators. It's always the weasels
and stoats and of course the demented judiciary
that are causing the trouble. But oh for a glass of
sloe and blackberry by the fireplace at Mole End in
this festive season...
Does anybody write fiction
about waistcoat-wearing wild turkeys? Actually,
it's sometimes hard to think of wild turkeys as
being wild exactly. The one pictured at left
poked its head into my car when I opened the window
to take a picture. I guess it satisfied itself that
I was not all that interesting because it wandered
back out into the road fairly quickly. It seems
pretty tame, and the local wild turkey that hangs
out down the street from my house in the general
vicinity of Merrimack College walks boldly in
traffic on Elm Street. I've also seen it walking
along Rt. 114 near the Lawrence Eagle Tribune
building. I suppose suburban turkey wouldn't
exactly convey the right idea though.
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