Here's What It Really Looks Like When Birds Attack

Nothing embodies the beauty of the hunt more than a bird attacking its prey. Here is some of the most incredible footage ever captured of what happens when these predators attack.

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An osprey catches a fish

Hawk attacks a drone

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Aggressive and hungry

A red-tailed hawk catches some flesh:

And a miss:

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Golden eagle

Eagle owl

Goshawk attacks a balloon

Barn owl

Bonus: Attacking a campsite

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DISCUSSION

When Death comes for me, I hope to God she looks like that Golden Eagle. That video actually made me weep in wonder. It reminded me of the poem 'Hurt Hawks' by Robinson Jeffers:

Hurt Hawks

BY ROBINSON JEFFERS

I

The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder,

The wing trails like a banner in defeat,

No more to use the sky forever but live with famine

And pain a few days: cat nor coyote

Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there is game without talons.

He stands under the oak-bush and waits

The lame feet of salvation; at night he remembers freedom

And flies in a dream, the dawns ruin it.

He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.

The curs of the day come and torment him

At distance, no one but death the redeemer will humble that head,

The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes.

The wild God of the world is sometimes merciful to those

That ask mercy, not often to the arrogant.

You do not know him, you communal people, or you have forgotten him;

Intemperate and savage, the hawk remembers him;

Beautiful and wild, the hawks, and men that are dying, remember him.

II

I'd sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk; but the great redtail

Had nothing left but unable misery

From the bones too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved.

We had fed him for six weeks, I gave him freedom,

He wandered over the foreland hill and returned in the evening, asking for death,

Not like a beggar, still eyed with the old

Implacable arrogance. I gave him the lead gift in the twilight. What fell was relaxed,

Owl-downy, soft feminine feathers; but what

Soared: the fierce rush: the night-herons by the flooded river cried fear at its rising

Before it was quite unsheathed from reality.