Tonight it was too hot to cook so I took the girls for dinner at Ugo in Culver City. We sat outside wolfing down bread and heard the raucous cry of a murder of crows. (I love, love, love being able to say murder of crows.) We watched them alight from the rooftop of the Culver Hotel and they seemed to be chasing a hawk. They were screaming loud, raspy, greedy cries. The hawk appeared to be working hard to get away from them. It’s hard to know how to interpret the scene.
Let’s say a hawk scores a really nice, fat rat. It’s soaring up above the city proper, almost drooling in anticipation of the delectable munch. Along comes a rowdy bunch of crows, threatening to nick the hardy bit of rat from the hawk. Would said hawk flap and fly as if giving the crows a run for their money, plotting escape?
I’m as careful about not anthropomorphizing local avian as the next person, but it was so tempting to indulge in the chase and flight story. Crows and hawk must have circled for about 10 minutes and then dispersed or maybe my dinner came and I got distracted. I’m assuming the hawk got away and probably enjoyed the succulent rodent just as my capellini pomodoro arrived. Mange!
If I were Aesop, I’d have a grand moral to the story. All I know is that the pasta had just the right amount of garlic and the bird show was as entertaining as a good appetizer.