Three bald eagles fly over the little dog and I as we walk down Sandy Beach. Another one perches on the root of a large driftwood log as the closest, high in a spruce tree, scolds the other four. Across the deep cove formed by a mine tunnel collapse, a fifth eagle watches several mallard families dabble in the water. When the ducks swim past the eagle, it flies low over them and then out, over the channel. Other than the scolding spruce tree eagle, only two belted kingfishers show attitude. They twist and turn around each other over the ducks and eagles like fighter planes above London during the Battle of Britain. Instead of bullets, the kingfishers hurl angry-sounding curses at each other. They drop for a second, over my little dog’s head and I am thankful that God gave such fierce hearts to little dudes rather than eagles with two-meter wing spans.