My mother's been clearing out an enormous cupboard in my sister's old bedroom. I say cupboard; it's bigger than my utility room and the entire family has been using it as a dumping ground since forever. This is what came to light today: some early photos of me with hawks.
There aren't any of the redtail I think of as my real hawk, my Camilla. John and I had custody of those, and his sister threw them all away when she cleared out their mother's flat after her death. These are of my first hawk, a European Buzzard called Morgan that I had for three years before Camilla. Morgan was fun; resilient, even-tempered and lazy, possessed of every bad habit I had to learn to teach a bird not to have, and although she remained resolutely uninterested in hunting anything larger than mice, she was a damn good teacher.
( Here be the pics )
There aren't any of the redtail I think of as my real hawk, my Camilla. John and I had custody of those, and his sister threw them all away when she cleared out their mother's flat after her death. These are of my first hawk, a European Buzzard called Morgan that I had for three years before Camilla. Morgan was fun; resilient, even-tempered and lazy, possessed of every bad habit I had to learn to teach a bird not to have, and although she remained resolutely uninterested in hunting anything larger than mice, she was a damn good teacher.
( Here be the pics )
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