Sparrow Before the Storm

It was dusk as I walked along the Ben Butterworth Parkway in Moline, and about five degrees out.  A little bird chirping in the bushes was the only sign of life on the trail.

He fluttered over the hedge and down an embankment.  Reaching a gap in the bushes, I saw him out on the ice.  He kept sticking his beak down into the ice, almost burying his head.  I couldn't quite make out what he was doing.  I thought maybe he'd found a little hole in the ice and was trying to get a drink before bed.  "Poor little bird," I thought.

Imagine my surprise when I got home and saw this up close.

That "poor little bird" was taking care of himself just fine.  He wasn't trying to get a drink.  He was ripping chunks of flesh off a dead fish!

 I I.D. the bird.  It's a song sparrow.  They normally eat seeds and insects.  But in the waning moments of the day, on the eve of a storm, you do what you gotta do.  It's a dog eat dog world out there.