There was a lady who worked on the West Side. Each day around lunch time she came to the same spot up on the rocks with raw chicken breast which she tied to tree branches. "I just want to make it easier for the young hawks". I didn't know what to say. I knew this wasn't right, but while I was thinking about what to say a hawk flew right by my head and landed on same branch. Lunch!
I only saw this food delivery that one winter. How did the hawk know this was raw chicken? Would they then acquire a taste for hot dogs? This is no way to hone hunting skills, but these are urban hawks. What's worse, chicken from the butcher or poison rats?_____________________________________
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