The Lighthouse Keeper
BY DANIEL W. DRAKE ASSOCIATE PUBLISHER
On a crisp Sunday afternoon, with the northwest wind bringing down the cold Canadian air, a brisk walk seemed appropriate to stir the cobwebs before settling into seven hours of football. The humans were bundled up to ward off the chill. The dog, who is quite a bit lower to the ground than the rest of us, didn't mind it at all.

As we left the driveway and began down the track to the harbor, we glanced up in the big, dead pines across the road which have long since lost most of their branches and are gradually succumbing to wind and waste. Those still standing are silhouetted against the sky like an abstract painting. Abstract art is an acquired taste.

The redeeming social value of these particular dead trees is that they serve as a roosting place for all manner of birds. The most visible are the flocks of migrating starlings that gather there in the spring and the crows that perch and squawk at each other. If these were the only species to use the trees, then it would be tempting to hasten their fall, but other birds use them from time to time. Of course the grandest are the red tail hawks.

On this particular day, our eyes led us to one such denizen sitting close to the tip of the tree that jutted up like a bolt of lightening rising from the ground. The bird was absolutely still.

I called out, "Hawkeye, is that you?

No answer.

I waited a moment. "Hawkeye, I know my eyes aren't great, but that looks like you."

The dog regarded me as the lunatic that he usually thinks I am and then sat in the road and started barking.

The bird moved very slightly.

I tried to shush the dog, all the while becoming more perturbed that the hawk was not responding to me. "Hawkeye, Happy New Year."

Still, no response. I noticed that my walking companion had gone on, leaving the dog barking and me yelling up into the sky.

"Who are your picks for the games today?" I asked desperately.

Finally, the bird turned its head, looked at me briefly and then floated down from its high perch to a nearby branch.

"Hello," Hawkeye said, smugly. "Happy New Year to you."

At this point, having received confirmation that his view of his master was absolutely correct, the dog gave one last bark and took off to catch up with the other walker.

"That dog," Hawkeye said, "is going to drive me crazy. He does nothing but bark. Bark, bark, bark. I have been spending the last ten minutes, ever since you left the house, trying to figure out if I could give him good swipe with my talons. By my calculations, which is what I was doing up there when you tried to interrupt me, the physics works, except for one thing."

"That wouldn't be nice," I interrupted. "You know, you can't teach an old…"

"Don't say it," Hawkeye squealed. "If you scare him enough he will learn. I am just afraid my talons would get caught in that wire he has for a coat and that I would get stuck. That wouldn't be pleasant at all."

"My friend" I said, "you need to stick to your knitting as the saying goes. You and your buddies did a great job of getting rid of that infestation of squirrels we had a few years ago. I haven't seen one in two or three years.

"But you haven't dealt with our other problem," I went on.

"What do you mean?" demanded Hawkeye. "You can't be serious."

"I am very serious. We seem to have an infestation of rats."

"Rats?" said the hawk. "Well, I am not surprised. Everyone on Nantucket has rats."

"Not quite like we do," I answered. "I don't want to go into detail, but let's just say they have become somewhat intrusive. My question is why you and your cousins, the sharp shins, haven't done away with them."

"Listen, man," Hawkeye said with a trace of disgust, "I like talking with you about politics and about the local scene. I thought that is why you called me down from the tree. I thought you wanted to know what I thought about all those new liquor licenses they talked about for all that time at the selectmen's meeting. I thought that perhaps we were going to talk about how anything that is proposed for the Westender property in Madaket is going to be opposed by the neighbors, or about the boatyard's proposal to add 30 slips in Hither Creek, or whose interests Waste Options is looking after in opposing the proposed new tipping station for c&d waste. If I had known that all you wanted to do was to criticize me, I would have stayed up in the tree and actually figured out how to get that dog of yours to stop yapping all the time. And keep my cousins out of it."

"Oh, Hawkeye," I said. "You are too sensitive. I do value your opinion on all these things, but there has been too much serious stuff going on. I thought maybe it would be a good idea to stay away from anything controversial this week"

"Yes," Hawkeye interrupted, "and you haven't talked to me about any of it." It's hard to tell if a red tail is pouting, but I could have sworn he was.

"All I am saying is that I needed a break. But why are we talking like this? All I wanted to do was ask what we can do about the rats. Maybe, if I don't get any help from you, I should try talking to them directly."

"Yikes," said Hawkeye. "That would be an insult to me and would give your readers the same view of you that the dog has, if they don't already think you are crazy."

"Don't forget about Templeton," I said. "He was a good guy."

Hawkeye flapped his wings in exasperation. "If you promise you will never mention the subject again, I will see what I can do about the rats. Don't expect miracles though."

"Thanks," I said, realizing I had gotten all I was going to get. "I had better try to catch up with the others."

As he launched himself, the bird looked back at me and said "The Patriots by nine. The Giants

by three in overtime. You can bet on it." I

The "Lighthouse Keeper" reflects the views of the author and does not necessarily represent the editorial position of The Nantucket Independent. Please send any ideas or comments to drake@nantucketindependent. com.