Mom and Pop

(American Kestrels)

I never tire of finding and watching Kestrels—Sparrow Hawks we called them in years gone by. These two, male and female, were constant companions and I’d find them most every time I walked around the golf course at the Running Y in Oregon.

From the forested side of the course, I could hear them calling to one another as I made my way along the trail. Opposite the treed area was a hillside covered with boulders and brambles, and the insects, reptiles, and rodents they sheltered. Thrusting upward from that rough terrain were dozens of bare gnarled trunks of Junipers. All of this provided the perfect hunting ground for my hungry Kestrels—sitting atop the trees, chatting away, and hovering at times before taking their next tasty morsel.

One day, I sat still watching them. Their calls became agitated, louder as they watched the sky. Above the three of us (four if you count our young pup Seamus), soaring so high as to almost be invisible, were three Red-tailed Hawks. If the hawks were not aware of Seamus and me, they would certainly soon be very aware of the two small falcons.

Simultaneously, from different Junipers, mom and pop lifted off—straight up, straight into the sky. In seconds they gained the altitude necessary to harass the far larger birds. Each singled out one Red-tail, dive bombing from above and harrying from below. Two Red-tails sped up and glided out of sight. One continued to circle. The Kestrel pair coordinated their efforts and drove the third Red-tail off with alacrity.

Like leaves falling from the sky, the Kestrels effortlessly fluttered back to their perches above the hillside and resumed their garrulous jabber.