Passing by the general area where I got strafed by the lapwings a couple of weeks ago, I heard their alarm call at a distance of about 140 meters from the area they guard. The paved road I take going through that area is tangentially about sixty meters from their stronghold at its nearest point, yet here they came, strafing me again.
Vexed, I stopped. Most feathered critters I know are keen interpreters of human intent, yet these deemed me a threat without my having approached them. They stopped the strafing only when they had to return to their area to defend it against a murder of crows, who’d been patiently vigilant in wait for such a distraction.
Long after I’d passed and was on my way back, two cyclists plied the same road where they’d harassed me, without so much as a peep from either lapwing. I guess they remembered me from last time.
They reminded me of a pair of mockingbirds who’d nested in my family’s paperbox when I was about five years old: mean-spirited without reason, which is extremely unusual in the avian world. Not that it’ll matter to the pair of lapwings, but they’re not the only occupants of this planet who have a long memory…