After the halfway point on my walk this morning, heading back towards home, I saw something you don’t see every day. It was a mockingbird chasing a hawk. The hawk was probably five times the size of the mockingbird. But the chase was all in the attitude. The mockingbird was squawking and chirping in a language that would make a sailor blush. The hawk wanted no part of it and was trying the flee but could not get away from the mockingbird. What had the hawk done? What had agitated the mockingbird so much? Had it been a transgression? Was the hawk just too close for comfort? Or did the two have a history. I was walking a bit later than normal and had not yet seen this routine. The unusual scene distracted and entertained me as I reflected on a myriad of permutations. As I’ve felt like the one receiving the squawk most of my life as a leader, I was surprised at how proud I was of the little mockingbird. Maybe ...