Hayestack

I have found a new pet, or more accurately, it has found me. Why it chose to land in my garden and wink at me with its great golden eye, I don’t know. It is a banded goshawk according to Nico (who loves birds) and who knows about these things as he has a book. It’s funny but the name goshawk sprang to mind as soon as I saw it. I was walking around the back of the garage to water my germinating melon plants and I almost trod on it. If it had been a black mamba I would be communicating this to you from celestial realms where everyone has state of the art laptops and free, superfast broadband connections.

Apart from its razor sharp beak and stiletto-like talons it did not look at all dangerous. I determined to keep my distance in case it mistook me for a frog or vole and tried to carry me off to its dining room. It made no attempt to fly away. It was friendship at first sight. I was so happy with my new pet I began to fantasize about how we would spend time together. Birds of prey like to hunt. We could roam the hillsides together looking for small animals to snatch and tear apart. Naturally, I wouldn’t eat small rodents myself but if I taught it the skills of an osprey, maybe it could catch fish for me. Oh, the wonderful times we would have together, my goshawk and I.

My new friend needs a photograph and a name.

“Don’t go anywhere. Just fetching my camera,” I said. He winked assent. We were already communicating.

As good as his word he hadn’t moved a muscle when I returned. In fact, he looked like a very handsome goshawk statue. Only his winking eye told me this goshawk was not stuffed. We had a little photo-shoot and I tried to capture his best side. I approached him from all angles and he knew instinctively not to fidget. His poise before the camera was natural and serene and would have made an excellent goshawk fashion model.

Now, the name. Spurning alliteration (Gordon the goshawk, Gary the goshawk just didn’t suit) I went for SK since initials are always cool and matey. They stand for “serial killer,” but I’m not going to tell SK that.

“Here, SK,” would be our cry over the vast Namibian hills.

Karen arrived and was introduced.

“Nico (who loves birds) would want to see this,” she said and gave him a ring. He came rushing over and confirmed him to be a banded goshawk. By this time I was getting concerned about my new little friend. Apart from his eye he hadn’t moved at all since we’d met. I had just read “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly” about a man who could only communicate by moving his eyelid. Maybe this was the goshawk version. Or, perhaps he was exhausted, even ill. Nico (who loves birds) offered SK a mop handle to perch on. He ignored it. Nico gave him a poke. SK did the splits and toppled over. Sadly, it was SK’s final topple. My new, two hour, pet was gone taking with him my hopes and dreams.

John, our gardener has interred SK in an unmarked grave amongst the frangipani trees.

Tags: John, Nico

This entry was posted on Thursday, June 4th, 2009 at 12:04 pm and is filed under Namibia. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.