The Magpie Killing Field

        Another bird has gone down on the section of the lawn in Newnham's Garden that I have renamed "The Magpie Killing Field."  We're up to dead bird number four since my arrival on campus in October, and I've given up on alerting the authorities.  No one on staff seems really bothered by the handiwork of the magpies except for the guy who mows the lawns every other week or so, and he only really cares if the lawnmower finds whatevers left of the bird before he sees it and scoops it into a big black trash bag.   Regardless of how many maintainence requests are entered that mention the need for yet another victim to be removed from The Magpie Killing Field, I get the feeling that this poor guy never gets the memo in time.
       One of the perks of living in a small collegiate town that plays home to a large science based university is that the presence of dozens if not hundreds of life science students means that almost *all* the birds here that can be described as having any level of intelligence at all, have been netted and tagged.  Frequently more than once.  They bouce around on the lawns or scream from the trees with little red, yellow, orange, purble, maroon, green, or blue tags on their legs, just waiting for someone to hang out with a notepad documenting the days of their lives.  This makes naming the magpies easier.
       Purple-Blue-Yellow (colors in descending order) is a particularly nasty specimen, and has a habit of hanging out in the apple tree near The Kills, in order to scream at anyone passing by.  He even sleeps there.  Or at least seems to, because on occasion I've decided to take predigious advantage of Newnham's exceptionally liberal attitude towards lawns, and cut corners off the trails coming home at night.  Walking on the grass, and inevitably rousing his ire. 
       Green-Orange is a sweetheart in comparison.  She'll follow people from tree to tree, sort of waiting to see if you'll drop any food, and while I've caught her eating the victims on the Magpie Killing Fields, I've never actually seen her engaged in direct murder.  It could be that she doesn't have the stomach for it, or it could be that she's just happy to let others do the hardwork, while still reaping the benefit herself.  I'm also not really sure if the magpies are taking advantage of place where birds sort of go to die naturally, because it's quiet and away from most people, or if they locate sick birds and harass them across campus to the apple tree where they have some dark plot to torment them to death.  Either way, it almost always ends the same way.  Fat, happy magpies.
       If there is a plot, I blame Only-Purple and Maroon-Blue-green.  They are friends.  But only with each other.  Anything else living, including other magpies are either on the "enemy" list, or the "dinner" list.  They like to hang out together in the big poplar-looking-tree-that-isn't-a-poplar-because-there-aren't-poplars-here, and dive bomb other birds and the occassional squirrel.  I wish I could find the students who are conducting the Purple, Maroon, Blue and Green experiments or observations and explain that they ought to track both Only-Purple and Maroon-Blue-Green if they want the whole story behind these birds.  But since I have yet to see a bird actually being caught and tagged, I'm gonna go with my current understanding that science students are really smart and will someday have actual jobs, and therefore us mere mortals in the social sciences don't run into them often.   Kind of like legends or gods.  You hear about them, you see evidence of them in history books, etc.  But you never actually meet them.
       I figure a dead bird is as good a way to start 2014 as anything.  It means a) the magpies are fine, and b) that life goes on regardless of the markers and changes that we attach to it.  The universe, no matter how we try, doesn't like being put into a box.  
        Yellow-Orange-Red, maybe the oldest and scruffiest magpie that hangs out around Newnham, was still screaming at me this morning when I opened the bathroom window to air out the steam.  Either that damn bird is just *always* screaming and we just can't hear him with the window closed, or he really does hate people so much that even the idea of seeing us is scream-inducing.   
       A dead bird right now---with all the college staff gone home until the 2nd---also means one more thing.  The Magpies are gonna get to eat for DAYS.  Way longer than they normally would.  A veritable Happy New Year's feast.
     I'm gonna make a bet with myself; I'll get two extra deserts next week if that bird is still on the lawn when I get back next week.  And guess what?  I'm gonna win.