It was a startling bang, more like a simultaneous crack and thud. Since we live near a military installation, the percussive rumble of bombs dropping is a constant, and out here in the country, many of our neighbors target-practice with firearms. The sound shouldn’t have alarmed me the way it did, but its distinct nature was disturbing, unique enough to grab my attention, rocket my heart rate, and bounce me to my feet.
I was in the middle of a project in the sunroom and hated the interruption, so I filed through several scenarios and dismissed each one. A household object hitting the floor—would clatter more. A tree falling against the roof—would not be that brief. A car crashing in the street—would be more, I don’t know, metallic.
My husband, George, strolled in the backyard with no alarmed expression on his face, so I relaxed without pursuing the source of the commotion. If he didn’t hear anything, it must have been the jarring popping and cracking the house makes with a temperature change. But I wasn’t convinced.
When George returned from his walk, I mentioned the episode. Being a person who would never let a possible structural failure slip by unnoticed, he checked. A few minutes later, he stuck his head in the sunroom.
“I found your sound.”
He’s never cryptic. With my curiosity piqued, I followed him.
“A bird hit the window,” he said.
I laughed. Birds hit the windows regularly here in the country, and that was NOT the sound.
“It was far too intense to be a bird!” I said.
When he opened the front door, it wasn’t just any bird. Sitting stunned on our front porch (at least an hour later) was an enormous hawk. And crumpled beside it was a small ball of feathers I assumed was his, or her, intended lunch.
But it didn’t look right.
As with all men who are still little boys who threw turtles at their brothers and dressed rabbits after a hunt, my husband excitedly reported, “And the other bird’s head is under the chair over there! Chopped it right off!”
Yes, I snapped a pic!
Feel the chill!