That's when it received one of Polly's tennis balls to the back of its head. Both birds tumbled over. The peewee flew for safety under the table and the falcon screamed in anger. I shouted at it and waved a stick in the air, like some cro-magnon hunter going for the kill except I don't imagine cro-magnon man ever shouted "That's my bloody PEEWEE ya bastard!" The falcon shot off into the sycamore, and I threw things at it until it left.
I caught the poor freaked out peewee and put her back in her cage. She calmed down a lot and doesn't appear to be injured apart from a bald patch on her chest. The others are hiding in the dense leaves of the Chinese Elm and are very quiet. Poor little bird: one day of freedom then Nature struck. Technically I should have let Nature take its course, but it was my bloody peewee dammit.