...Our swimming pool works again. It was out of commission during various renovations last year, but it's lovely and clear and inviting this summer, and Tom Jones had just finished his show on Randoradio about an hour before all this happened. Tom and Ken and I were bobbing in the warm water, chatting about Tom's latest Logovore project (the one about the private family words for stuff). Overhead, the sky was heading for sunset. The creek that runs by our house was burbling in the background and a member of the duck community that lives here was scarfing up the cracked corn we leave out for them under our apple tree.
Suddenly, the biggest red-tailed hawk I have ever seen swooped down and attempted to make a meal of the poor duck. Frantic quacking ensued. It was a female duck--not the mama that had marched her ducklings through our place this spring, but one we'd seen before. The hawk was trying to get its talons into her and she was not doing well at fighting the raptor off.
It was an ugly situation. No hawk can take a duck. Hawks eat their prey in the trees. The hawk could have horribly hurt or killed the duck, but couldn't have flown away with it.
Ken sprang out of the pool and ran at the hawk with his hands stretched high over his head.
"BLEEEAHHHH! BLAAAAAAA! BLEAAAH!" he bellowed.
The hawk cast a baleful eye at him. The duck stopped screaming.
"BLEEEAH!!!! BLAAAAAAAAA!" shouted Ken.
The hawk dropped the duck and flew across the creek. The duck began to quack again and flew into the creek. She swam upstream, seemingly uninjured.
Another crisis averted. Ken slid back into the pool to our applause.
I have no idea what music I will play or what drink I will mix on my Friday show to honor Ken's rescue of the innocent duck. I'll think of something. But I wanted to make note of my dear mate, who is not afraid of looking utterly ridiculous in order to save a critter who would have died needlessly.
Any suggestions for an appropriate set?