***WARNING*** graphic hawk photo and the use of the words, "dog poop".

Recently, my wife returned home from church and saw a hawk, in our neighbor's front yard, devouring a pigeon like it had just avenged its family's honor after a century of wrongful birdcage imprisonment. There was something very personal about this meal because the hawk didn't even move when my girl walked up to it and took several photos and a video. (Come to think of it, it was rather personal for the pigeon as well, you know, given that it was dead and in pieces.) But anywho, you're probably asking yourself, What church does a bird photog attend? First of all, that's none of your business. Second of all, curiosity is a terrible thing to have (as I tell my kids when I talk with them every other weekend during our scheduled visit). You're probably also asking yourself, Why weren't you with your wife if she was returning from church? First of all, I don't appreciate the suspicious tone. Second of all, I was at a meeting at the church, if you must know.

And now, if it's okay with you, my dear reader, I'd like to get back to my bird blog.

If you've been following my infrequent posts, then you know that my wife seems to think that she's the bird photographer in this family. I mean, I thought we had a clear agreement that she wouldn't encroach on my hobbies, and I'd stop wearing yoga pants in public with her. But apparently neither of us is interested in upholding that agreement.

Nevertheless, in any other typical week, my hubris could have weathered another "in-your-face", stellar bird photo from my "wife". But you see, America, I don't find birds of prey in my front yard. I find other treats.

The same week my lady friend witnessed a hawk maintain the food chain from 10 feet away, something less exciting happened to me. I was backing out of my driveway to head off to my other job that pays real money. That's when I noticed it. "It" wasn't a hawk eating a pigeon. "It" was dog poop. "It" was a trail of dog poop across my driveway, with one piece smashed into the pavement, courtesy of one of my tires. As I struggled to balance all of the pieces of non-bird-of-prey treats on my shovel as I walked toward (or is it, "towards"?) the trash can, reality set in: the world is conspiring against my bird photography career. Well, guess what world? Challenge accepted.

*Notice the uncooked piece of pigeon hanging from the hawk's mouth. Also, the pigeon is not happy.