Annapolis Capital Punishment

We knew something was going on outside as soon as the trusted family watchdog barked and jumped against the glass door. A great blue heron was standing silent sentinel from the neighbor's roof. It was stalking our fish pond. It had been here before. This muddy February day brought out this magnificent bird who was probably having a hard time fishing in the icy creeks. The pond ice had just melted and the bird must have been hungry. He came to watch the fish in my pond.

But the fish? Or the bird? Who shall live? And who shall die? Or who shall possibly go hungry?
Both of my boys were home, each with a friend. It was ime for a natural history lesson.

I figured there were a lot more goldfish than there were herons. A heron was more valued than a goldfish. The heron was a native in an area that had been trampled by humans for hundreds of years. That's why I was warm and dry inside, contemplating cooking a warm meal. Would I serve chicken or fish?

The goldfish was an invader shipped in to an artificial habitat-the pond in my backyard. The Bay had formed some ten thousand years ago when the Susquehanna Rover flooded. My pond was dug in a few minutes by a steel machine.

But I liked the goldfish too. I had raised them from minnow size to some now as large as 7 or 8 inches. I bought the food. Still, the beautiful heron was going to win. Rather I was going to let it win. We closed the curtains and watched.

The heron slowly swooped in and landed. It crept in toward the pond. A crowd of crows and even a hawk gathered in the old walnut tree to watch. We crept upstairs and like those other birds, we watched from our second floor window perch so as not to disturb the heron. The dog was put into a back room to silence her.

The heron crept. Slowly. Crept forward. A little more. Stealthily stood at the pond's edge. Silently waiting. Still. Still. We watched. Quietly. Even the boys were quiet. Minutes passed. The heron leaped in the pond, struck out with its long neck and had the goldfish in her beak. Darn! My biggest fish! My oldest fish! That damn bird took my biggest fish! It swallowed that big fish whole. In one gulp. The fish slid down its long throat. I regretted my decision. Ahh, never mind.

That damn bird. It took my biggest fish. We watched my fish swallow and wiggle down the heron's neck. I let it take my biggest fish. My fish. My pond. My yard. My property. My home. My habitat.

I opened my back door and startled the heron. It took to flight gracefully lifting and bringing its great wings slowly up and down. It went to a nearby roof. My other neighbor's roof.

The heron won. I let the heron win. Heron won. Heron one. Fish zero.

It was kind of like playing God in the city, if only for a moment or two. I can always buy some more goldfish from a store and feed them more store-bought fish food. My small contribution to a beautiful Chesapeake native. I can't buy a great blue heron at a store but I can buy a Treasure the Bay license plate with its image stamped into the metal. Millions have done so. Put a heron by your tailpipe. Treasure the Chesapeake. Feed a heron.

This was better than watching Nemo. Read Tennyson's Canto 56. That's not Department 56.

That night I made the youngest a hamburger for dinner but the rest of us had neither fish nor fowl.

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