Buzzards

Look at that face.  The steely determination in those eyes.  Well, that one eye.  The eyebrow on the right always hangs over so I can't see that right eye.  But that left eye tells you all you need to know.  Doesn't it just scream fierce?  

Not exactly.  It may look fierce to the untrained, but in truth it screams "frustrated buzzard hunter".

We have buzzards outside our house.  Lots of them.  (My Audubon-esque husband tried to convince me they were hawks when we first moved here, but when twelve of them showed up one day, he had to admit he might have been wrong).

And because our house sits on top of a mountain (I use the term loosely.  It is Alabama) the buzzards fly at just the right height that Rafter can watch them....and think he can catch them.

On sunny days (can't figure out where they go on cloudy days??) they circle for hours.  Swooping down right in front of the windows just to torment him.

He runs from one end of the house to the other.  Watching.  Growling.  Barking.

Frustrated.