The hunter, with infinite patience, regards her prey, unmoving, quiet as…well…a mouse, steadfastly planning intricate strategies with which to carry out the act of attack!
The GW & B hunger (did I say that? I meant ‘hunter’) stays still as a glassy lake, still as early morning, still as only a GW & B hunter can stay still. No breath can be discerned. No movement of a whisker. No twitch of a muscle. The GW & B hunter can wait, and wait, and wait…that is the mark, the skill, the intrepid inner control of the GW & B hunter…
Still, she waits, with only the sound of evening and that darned bird pecking at crackers that mama puts out for those turtledoves. I make the sound of the GW & B hunter at last….kkkkk….kkkkk…kkkkk. My jaw vibrates with the anticipation of whatever it is I am anticipating. Kkkkk, I go, but I feel my eyes growing heavy. I have just heard mama say to papa, “Loulou is getting ready to snooze! Her eyes are squinty and she’s just about to drop–is she going to go after that birdie or what?”
Papa says, “No way, Jose, Loulou doesn’t hunt but she’s great at getting ready for it. Love her chatter.”
Little did they know that I had forgiven the birdie in my little heart and was, frankly, enjoying just watching the pecking/eating show without having to participate. Wonder if it was because mama had just given me a lovely plate of something called duck en gelee and that bird had indigestion written all over it.
I always like the après hunt anyway…turtledove schmurtledove, home is where the hand is!