It’s Christmas Eve. Georgie’s gone to Beth’s so I have feed the raptors (birds of prey) alone tonight. The raptors live in a little shelter behind the infirmary and in front of Biscuit Creek. There’s really a lot that can go wrong in the dark by myself and who will hear my cries over the roar of the water when the dead camper ghosts come for me?
I have four buckets of thawed mice to bring to each cage. These buckets are currently in the god-forsaken infirmary… Surely I’ll be alright. The hawks will protect me but not that little bastard Gilboa. He’ll just laugh, “Click, click, click,” while Peek-a-boo goes for my eyes.
This is really the most excitement I’ve had with the birds since that morning I had to clean up all the dead rat bits from the hawk’s cage. They usually like rats and eat them up nicely but they must have known I was coming that day because they made a nice gutty mess without eating a single part.