Once a day, every day of the year, a hawk goes flying around Trafalgar Square. It's a brown Harris hawk, provided by NBC Bird & Pest Solutions, and its job is to frighten away the pigeons. Ah, those lovable cuddly pigeons who for decades have swooped and soared above the Square to the delight of visiting tourists. Or, if you're the Mayor of London, those evil rats with wings who bring pestilence, disease and nasty white droppings which <plop> stain everything they touch. So, according to Ken, all these pigeons have to die. Or, rather, they all have to fly off and learn to live somewhere else, anywhere else, other than that big public space around Nelson's Column. Hence the hawk.
Time your visit to the square right and you might meet the lady with the hawk [photo]. There she is up on the North Terrace, in front of the National Gallery, strolling around with a great big bird of prey on her arm. This lady's in no hurry. She just wanders around and around in big circles amongst the pigeons while her hawk peers down through mean carnivorous eyes. The pigeons seem unimpressed, as if they've seen the whole act before [photo]. A few take off for a quick flight, but no more and no further than you might expect if a small toddler were approaching instead. At this rate, Trafalgar Square will never be dropping-free.
But HawkLady has one more trick up (or indeed on) her sleeve. She loosens the leather straps on her arm and lets her big bird free. Tourists stare open-mouthed. They'd been warned that London was dangerous, but they weren't expecting an aerial killer on the loose. Not to worry. This is a well-trained hawk, and it has no intention of savaging overseas visitors. Instead it swoops across the piazza and alights gracefully on top of the fourth plinth. Here it perches on the edge, directly behind Alison Lapper's arse, and waits, and watches.
Then, on a predetermined signal, the hawk pounces. The telltale shadow of a marauding raptor passes silently above the heads of the pigeons below. They flap and flutter, momentarily disturbed, as the hawk flies in. And then it comes to rest, not with its talons dug deep into bloodied flesh, but landing gently back onto the handler's gauntlet. The pigeons don't seem surprised by this, and within seconds are back strutting about on the ground in search of invisible crumbs thrown by over-generous passers-by.
And so hawk patrol continues. Another circuit, another plinth-swoop, continued avian disinterest. But HawkLady continues to smile, as well she might. It's not everyone who paid gets to stroll around Trafalgar Square with a bird on their arm for no particularly good reason, at the taxpayer's expense. Same time tomorrow then?
Once a day, every day of the year, a hawk goes flying around Trafalgar Square. It's a brown Harris hawk, provided by NBC Bird & Pest Solutions, and its job is to frighten away the pigeons. Ah, those lovable cuddly pigeons who for decades have swooped and soared above the Square to the delight of visiting tourists. Or, if you're the Mayor of London, those evil rats with wings who bring pestilence, disease and nasty white droppings which <plop> stain everything they touch. So, according to Ken, all these pigeons have to die. Or, rather, they all have to fly off and learn to live somewhere else, anywhere else, other than that big public space around Nelson's Column. Hence the hawk.
Time your visit to the square right and you might meet the lady with the hawk [photo]. There she is up on the North Terrace, in front of the National Gallery, strolling around with a great big bird of prey on her arm. This lady's in no hurry. She just wanders around and around in big circles amongst the pigeons while her hawk peers down through mean carnivorous eyes. The pigeons seem unimpressed, as if they've seen the whole act before [photo]. A few take off for a quick flight, but no more and no further than you might expect if a small toddler were approaching instead. At this rate, Trafalgar Square will never be dropping-free.
Then, on a predetermined signal, the hawk pounces. The telltale shadow of a marauding raptor passes silently above the heads of the pigeons below. They flap and flutter, momentarily disturbed, as the hawk flies in. And then it comes to rest, not with its talons dug deep into bloodied flesh, but landing gently back onto the handler's gauntlet. The pigeons don't seem surprised by this, and within seconds are back strutting about on the ground in search of invisible crumbs thrown by over-generous passers-by.
Time your visit to the square right and you might meet the lady with the hawk 
