This is why eagles cry

Thursday dawned cold and very windy, but the sun was trying to break through the clouds. On Crescent Beach, the tide was out and still retreating; we walked south, watching the birds far off, hunting along the water's edge or swimming just off-shore. At Kwomais Point, three eagles sat, unmoving, in tall trees. Others flew with the gulls, prompting flocks of ducks and peeps to scramble for safer feeding grounds up or down the shore.

I was shivering, even with the wind at my back. On the return trip, we walked in close to the shelter of the cliffs, where it was warmer. Over our heads, a couple of eagles squeaked (Such a whiny, creaky voice for such mighty birds!) and we scanned the trees looking for them.

There were four, three youngsters, and an adult, supervising from an adjacent tree. And two of the young ones were not happy.

The three.

The one in the centre held this position as long as we watched.

Side view, as he came up for air. His lunch looks like entrails and a bit of feathers or fur.

"Is he going to eat it all? Not leave any for me? Not fair!"

"I'm shocked! Shocked! The nerve! He's a selfish pig! He's supposed to share!"

"I'll tell you, I'm getting mad! Just wait! I'll get even!"

And Mommy (or maybe Dad) said nary a word.