A Lesser Coucal suns itself on the grasses near the canal bank opposite my position.

A Barred Rail comes out of the undergrowth along the fateful canal bank, seemingly checking out the surroundings.

Feeling safe, the B. Rail returns to the undergrowth. It comes out a few moments later with a chick trailing behind. Little do they know that in a few minutes, their home will become mounds of upturned earth.

A Little Heron patiently hunts for prey near the doomed bank. Everything is calm, not unlike the peace and quiet before the onset of a raging storm.

The silence of the morning is broken by the distant rumble of arriving heavy equipment, crawling along the canal bank that it presumably tore the day before.

Promptly on arrival, the Iron T. Rex starts its demolition job.

The equipment number and owner ID can be prominently seen.

Meter by painful meter, the Iron T. Rex does its job with deadly efficiency.

A closer view of how the jaws of death tear up the habitat of unsuspecting birds and other fauna.

The Iron T. Rex gets closer to the home of the Barred Rails seen earlier.

The equipment operator relieves himself. He may just be following instructions, but in my view, his hands are just as dirty as those of his superiors, and his superiors' principals.

The sign says it all - nobody is welcome here, not even birders.

The guardhouse commands a strategic view of the mudflats.

Like Gestapo tunics, the guards' uniforms dry out in the wind.

The operator concentrates on doing his dastardly work.

Destruction is almost complete, with numerous birds and other animals fleeing for their lives.

The mother Barred Rail looks for its chick on top of the disturbed earth. What used to be home is now gone forever.

The mother Rail continues to look in desperation, as I overhear the operator say to one of the guards that there's a young bird under the carriage ("May sisiw! May sisiw!").

Ther operator gets down to survey his "accomplishment."

One of the guards crosses over from the guardhouse to the destruction site.