The Size of the Fight

We have two resident hawks that live in our lower field. They sit on fence posts or on other bales and wait for us to pick up the rows of hay with some machine or other. This is because when we pick up the hay, mice run out from underneath it. Usually, the mice run like crazy until the hawk catches them and carries them off somewhere to make a delectable breakfast out of them.

However, there was one case the other day where the mouse was not going to go down without a fight. When the hawk came for this particular mouse, the mouse stood up on it's hind legs and started what could only be described as "shaking it's fists". It confused the hawk long enough that the hawk had to land and stare at the mouse. It was at that point that the mouse gave the hawk everything else it had, squealing at the top of it's lungs. The hawk hopped around the mouse, knowing that sooner or later, the mouse was going to have to drop back down and run, again making it bait.

Eventually, the hawk got the mouse. And, despite the fact that there is no love lost between me and rodents of ANY kind, I actually felt a little bad for the mouse. This is because sometimes, I feel like that mouse. No matter how hard I fight, something bigger or stronger than me is always waiting for me to "drop back down and run like the scaredy cat that I am" so that it can crush me. But, it doesn't change the fact that I am going to keep fighting. I mean, you never know. Maybe one day, it will be the size of the fight in me that will overcome whatever lurks there. And when that day comes, look out. I am going to take the world for all it's worth.