I went for a walk through Edna Taylor park after work. At the far end of my walk, where the path loops through the playground behind Henderson Elementary School, I saw two Sandhill cranes walking across the lawn. As I got closer, I caught a reddish blur weaving between their legs. I’d never seen a Sandhill crane chick before. I had no idea they were so tiny, but of course they would be, wouldn’t they?

They let me get pretty close to them, about ten or fifteen feet away, as I snapped photos. I got even closer, maybe as close as ten feet, as I followed them up the path back into the park. I don’t know why I did that. I wouldn’t follow a bear into the woods, especially if it had a cub. I wouldn’t even follow a raccoon if it had littles nearby. I guess birds seemed harmless.

I followed them about ten yards down the path. Both the adults seemed okay with that. Neither one made any noise that would indicate distress, although the adult in the rear kept a constant eye on me. The chick barely knew I was there. I stayed ten to fifteen feet behind them, walking slowly.

Then the adult closest to me decided it had had enough, turned around, and stopped. I stopped. It took a step toward me. I took a step back. It opened its beak, made a noise and kept coming. I kept backing up, slowly. I get this reaction from the Canada geese in the park all the time when I walk past them. I never get freaked out, I guess because they’re only knee-high. But a Sandhill crane stands four feet tall. It can almost look me in the eye. I freaked out.

“Whoa! Whoa!” I said, raising my arms. The crane took that as a challenge. It opened its wings, which are HUGE, and began to RUN toward me. I was yelling incoherently now, waving my arms and running backward while this big-ass bird chased me away from its chick. My foot caught against a stone and I went down on my butt, rolled over, and got up on all fours, ready to face the attack. But it was over. I had turned tail and run. The crane had won, and it knew it. It was slowly walking away already, watching me. I got to my feet and waited respectfully. It walked back to join its partner and their chick. Then all three stepped into the grass. While they were contentedly poking through the grass, I walked slowly past, nursing a sprained wrist.

Don’t mess with Sandhill cranes. Lesson learned.