Oh my Lord, what a feathered goofball! As y’all know, LWR isn’t on the migratory flyway for falcons, nor are we in their breeding area, and as a result, we see very few—three in over 20 years, one of which was DOA. So this fellow’s antics led me to contact colleague Kathryn Dudeck at Chattahoochee Nature Center, who sees in an average year as many falcons as LWR has seen over the course of 20 years, so she knows considerably more than I do about them.
What was the issue, you ask? Well, he’s a fairly laid-back bird. The last peregrine LWR had was a stressy female who shredded her tail feathers and never adjusted to humans walking into her pen for feedings. This little feathered pig (app. 480g, for them what’s wondering—and yes, that’s grammatically incorrect but it’s colloquially correct) not only hasn’t shredded any of his body parts, he flies TOWARD me and SNATCHES the food from the forceps. I wondered if he had some head issues; Kathryn assured me he was just that rarity, a very laid-back male. Whew! That frees me up to just enjoy his antics!
The goal, if y’all recall, was to move him into the main flight last week. Upon close examination, the puncture wound under his wing was only about 85% healed—it was quite deep and a large puncture—so I opted to err on the side of caution and keep him in the mini-pen for another week or two. And, of course, while I had him in hand, I weighed him, hence the weight listed above.
However…Sir Peregrine was NOT happy that I laid rough hands on his august personage, and once we were back in the mini-pen and said rough hands unhanded him, he proceeded to give me a royal chewing out. I mean, he questioned my parentage, he insulted my looks, he called me unrepeatable names, he demanded I leave his presence with all due haste…all over his shoulder, all while retaining a death grip on one finger of the glove…Doofus…
However…Sir Peregrine was NOT happy that I laid rough hands on his august personage, and once we were back in the mini-pen and said rough hands unhanded him, he proceeded to give me a royal chewing out. I mean, he questioned my parentage, he insulted my looks, he called me unrepeatable names, he demanded I leave his presence with all due haste…all over his shoulder, all while retaining a death grip on one finger of the glove…Doofus…
Once I pried his big ol’ falcon foot—seriously, their feet are disproportionately outsized for their bodies—off the glove, he then turned to face me and cussed me out for another near-60 seconds. No video of that; I was nearly doubled over, gasping for breath as I laughed at him, which thoroughly incensed him, leading to death glares.
All was forgiven by the next feeding, though—a healthy falcon ain’t gonna let anything stand between him and food!
Since he remained in the mini-pen, the barred owl went into the main flight. Another few weeks, and he should be good for release.
All was forgiven by the next feeding, though—a healthy falcon ain’t gonna let anything stand between him and food!
Since he remained in the mini-pen, the barred owl went into the main flight. Another few weeks, and he should be good for release.
The sole intake for the week was another barred, this one from Jeff Davis County, with no fractures but some serious head trauma. He appears to be blind. We’ll give him a while to see if the blindness resolves itself once the concussion heals. I’m not hopeful, as his pupils show no response to light yet. It’s not looking promising for him.
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