I was at my sister-in-law’s house last week and as I was driving out of the neighborhood, I saw a hawk flapping around near some bushes. I thought it was hunting something so I turned around to get some photos. It turned out that the poor thing was injured – he appeared to have a broken wing. In lieu of the girl’s suggestion that we call the Wonder Pets, I got one of the neighbors to get the number for the fish and game commission, so we could call for a raptor rescue. But I took a few shots while we waited:
In other news, I ate pizza (with mushrooms and hot peppers. . .mmm) for breakfast. Florine Marks is probably rolling over in her grave. You know, if she were dead. She’s not dead is she? I don’t think she is. I’m going to have to go look it up. And I tell you, if I find out that all this time I have been watching and counting and drinking eleventy gallons of water a day and she died all huge and floppy and needed one of those giant caskets, all bets are off, dead, fat Florine!