Category Archives: Falconry

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My Hawk Catches Staci’s Pet Squirrel

Staci, my wife, soulmate, and today also my hunting companion, is yelling at a squirrel being chased by my red-tailed hawk, Tama. “Run, Chatterbox, run!”

This squirrel chatters well, hence his name. He is not good at escaping my hawk. My falconry bird, Tama, has caught Chatterbox five times. How is this possible, you ask?

Falconry is the hunting of wild animals in their natural state and habitat by means of a trained bird of prey. In my personal experience with falconry, it means I hunt squirrels and rabbits using a red-tailed hawk.

No gun, nothing but taking the hawk out into the woods and fields and letting her be who God created her to be. Raptors, like her, kill and eat prey. Sharp talons, and powerful beak, and keen eyesight are her tools used to spot the next meal from distances far away.

My thrill in hunting with a red-tailed hawk is watching the chase. It’s not necessarily the kill. Nature has a way of using life and death to keep things in balance. People who do not know about falconry might think it is cruel, as the prey frequently gets eaten. It reminds me of when we “civilized” humans view a National Geographic film showing the zebra being chased by the lion. Naturally, we all cheer for the Zebra hoping the mean lion will miss. We overlook that three young lions also require meat to survive.

Nature’s “survival of the fittest” often sees hawks capturing and consuming squirrels. But we caught silly Chatterbox 5 times! How?

When Tama grabs the squirrel, she doesn’t stab it with her sharp talons. She grabs and squeezes with all her strength. Picture a baseball player submerged beneath teammates in a dog pile, celebrating a victory strikeout. Better get him up so he can breathe. Or picture someone bear-hugging you so tight you can’t breathe. You will literally pass out in seconds.

Here is the trick. When Tama catches a squirrel, she “parachutes” down to the ground with her catch. She locks on and squeezes with all her strength. If I get there within, say, 15 seconds, I can save the squirrel from her grip.

Birds of prey have an uncanny ability with their eyesight. Also, if they don’t see something, then in their mind it doesn’t exist. Approaching the squirrel and hawk engaged in conflict, I rapidly covered the squirrel using a towel. Immediately, I show the hawk a fresh chicken leg. Tama instinctively grabs the chicken leg and in the same motion, I grab the squirrel with my gloved hand.

While she is feasting on her KFC chicken meal, I swing the squirrel around behind my back and release him. He’s free to go his merry way. Lord, have mercy!

This might make it clearer why Staci cheers for the squirrel and I for the hawk when we hunt together.

Staci and I have fished and hunted together practically all our lives. How many people get to say their dates involved frog gigging, snake hunting, and dove shoots? We also did the ordinary dates of eating out, going to the drive-in for movies, and church youth socials. All that was just ordinary (well, maybe not at the drive-in). Lord, have mercy.

We are both big hunters, but we are both tenderhearted and compassionate towards animals. Unnecessary harm and cruelty are not involved in true hunting. There is a standard of ethics involved in hunting. Maybe that’s a hard thought to understand unless you are a hunter with a big heart yourself.

Anyway, Staci has been supporting silly Chatterbox as he is being chased. “Run, run, run!” she says.

Chatterbox climbs the same tree and scampers up to the very top. At the very top he has come to the end of the branches, so now it’s jump or remain still. He jumps, but he hesitates. That’s when Tama swoops in and grabs Chatterbox with her talons/claws. She then floats down to the ground. We say the hawk is “parachuting”.

Instantly Staci says, “Lord have mercy!” She looks at me and yells, “Run, Dan, run!”

I’m already running, dodging vines and branches as I hastily make my way to Tama and her victim. The “Lord have mercy” routine, we call it, is quickly in play. I threw the blanket over the captured squirrel and showed Tama the delicious chicken leg. She goes for it, and all is well in the forest.

I’m delighted by the incredible bird’s performance. The hawk is happy as she is gorging on her chicken leg meal. Staci’s happy, which makes me happier than two teenagers at the drive-in. And Chatterbox,….. well, he’s happy, although I don’t think he realizes what just happened.

It’s difficult to know what a squirrel is thinking. Their brains are small. It seems they have trouble deciding whether to cross a road in front of your oncoming car. In Chatterbox’s situation, one would think he would learn from this. Lord have mercy, because he doesn’t.

Over the next few days, we would hunt this exact tree. Each visit yielded a squirrel close by. Either on the ground or climbing somewhere in the tree. You guessed it. It was the one and only Chatterbox!

So, that’s how Tama caught this squirrel 5 times.

The third time was sketchy. As nimbly and gracefully as a deer, I ran to the hawk and squirrel; I tripped and face-planted right into the leaves covering the ground. I lost precious seconds checking to see if any teeth had come loose or if there were any fractures or broken bones. Thankfully, I got to the scene of the hunting capture and freed Chatterbox once again. I had to voice aloud the phrase “Lord have mercy”, as this was now a ritual with this squirrel and his unwillingness to learn from his mistakes.

As Staci and I make our way back home, I comment about how stupid her “pet” squirrel is. Her reply got me thinking. “He’s not stupid; he just can’t help himself.”

I guess we humans (myself included) can’t help ourselves sometimes. You would think that we would learn from our mistakes. One would think that our people’s brains are much superior to a squirrel’s brain, but actions prove otherwise. A predator is out to get us. Divine intervention and God’s mercy have saved us from the consequences of our behavior many times over.

Lord have mercy. And He does.

We all know “that guy” that can’t help himself. You could be that person. When we do wrong or bring harm to someone or ourselves, it is easy to place the blame on others. Rather than play the blame game and all the negativity associated with it, I’m choosing to focus on the power of God’s mercy.

Rather than badmouthing someone (or myself) over constant failures and shortcomings, maybe I should give attention to God’s saving grace and mercy.

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him. John 3:17.

I witnessed Chatterbox receive several doses of mercy. Did he deserve it? Probably not. Will he ever learn from it? He hasn’t so far.

What about the survival of the fittest? In nature, only the best survive, whether a squirrel or me and you.

But in God’s universe, He loves each of us so much that He dishes out His mercy constantly. Thank goodness!

But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ-by grace you have been saved. Ephesians 2:4-5.

So God loves me so much that I can do whatever I want and be as stupid as I desire, and God’s going to show me mercy? Well, no. Let’s save that discussion for another campfire chat. For now, look at your situation like this.

Chatterbox is still around because of mercy. Looks like you are still around too. Learn from your mistakes and shortcomings. Be grateful for God’s mercy in your life. His desire is for you to grow closer to Him. Several doses of mercy should inspire you to turn your spiritual journey towards God and his mercy for you.

Tama was one of my best hawks. In one hunting season she harvested 48 squirrels. Because of Mercy, Chatterbox’s 5 times are not included in that list. Lord have mercy!

See Ya! DanAinsworth Wilderness Preacher and receiving mercy myself

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Lazarus He’s Gone, Or Is He?

Lazarus, the red-tailed hawk, has reached the end of his journey with me. Or has he?

Early October was when our paths crossed. His path was leading him 6 feet under because he was a goner. My path was giving me an avenue for much learning about this hawk and his fight for survival.

Lazarus had suffered from external injuries such as broken wing feathers. Internally, damage from parasites had needed mending. His desire to survive had fought through his obstacles. The spunk he possessed had inspired me to go above and beyond with his treatment.

The pen was Lazarus’ safe place, his very own Higher Ground. A place of peaceful solitude, a resting place, perhaps just a place where nothing had to be rushed, allowed him a complete recovery after the molting of his feathers. My schedule involved a lot of travel, so I had recruited a good friend, Brian, to care for Lazarus while I was away. My time away allowed a bond to grow between Brian and Laz.
Brian and I had seen the spirit within this bird of prey. His regained strength was noticeable when he clasped the glove firmer each day. Laz would greet each of us in anticipation of his next nutritious meal. Lazarus’ improvement gave us fulfillment. His flights grew longer. Lazarus’s physical changes showed evidence of his rebuilding. We’d remember numerous occasions when conversing with a hawk didn’t seem crazy after all. The rekindling of life, whether bird or man, gave new meaning to everyday activities.
Lazarus’ freedom day transformed into a reunion for friends keen on observing his initial flight returning to nature. We had opened the gate. Several moments passed before Lazarus had realized he could fly away from the pen. With a few flaps of his restored wings, he had flown to a nearby tree. His return to this wilderness location occurred quietly. Seeing him casually settled on the tall pine had produced satisfaction in the crowd. A few waves goodbye, and some pictures of his departure signaled the end of this bird’s restoration. Lazarus’ finale with humans had taken place. Or had it?

My last thumbs-up to Lazarus served as a salute in two ways; the happiness of his complete recovery, woven into the blues of us parting ways.
 Over the past months, my whistling to him, Laz meeting me at the gate at mealtime, his chomping his beak with anticipation, all were thrills given as our bond had grown strong. The bond that had formed would now dissolve, as no physical interaction between man and hawk would keep it flourishing.

When asked if Lazarus still soars the valley near Higher Ground, subconsciously I go to the part of my brain that contains all the images and memories of my favorite hawk. There’s the image on a frosty October morning when Staci and I had picked up a lifeless bird. Lifeless, except for what had radiated from his eyes. Another picture etched in my brain is the selfie I took with me and Laz. He flew within inches of my right shoulder. He perched on his favorite limb beside me just to hang out, to say thanks, to just be with me. That moment, in Colorado’s wild, a hawk’s presence revealed my own untamed spirit’s goodness.

His rehabilitation period was for eleven months, from early October to the following September. Atrophied muscles slowly strengthened back into a powerhouse for providing sustained flight. His wing’s damaged-beyond-repair feathers molted, and new high-functioning flight feathers replaced them.
Feathers previously eaten away by parasites revealed bare patches of skin, exposing him to the harsh elements of Colorado. The eleven months of time allowed for healing. Newly grown feathers have now covered Laz from head to talon. He’s even taken on a much darker tone as he’s matured. People shown the before and after pictures of Lazarus had sworn it’s two different birds.

It was. One picture showed him on the verge of death. His body was so lifeless that he could barely stand. The other picture showed him on the fringe of a new frontier. His eyes blazed. The fire spread through his reconditioned feathers. He felt ready for life’s challenges.

The day before Lazarus was transported to Brian’s property for his future care, proved to be bittersweet. . Resting on the ground was one of his red tail feathers. That feather has become a special ornament on my fishing hat. A part of Laz goes with me now on my continuing journeys in the wilderness. The red tail feather now adorning my hat is proof of the connection Lazarus and I share.

Do I truly see Lazarus in the valley? It’s a fun conversation topic with people. Folks around Westcliffe know me as that ‘ hawk guy’. They’ll comment about seeing a hawk who didn’t seem afraid of them. Maybe they were walking by one in a field, or they saw one perched on the light pole at the town post office. Is that possibly your bird? I can truthfully answer, yes, that’s my bird.

My favorite bird is the red-tailed hawk. Just what they represent to me. So if you see that hawk, just remember you are looking at my hand-picked choice of all the feathered friends we get to enjoy.

Should the question focus on whether it is indeed Lazarus, then my response would be no. So much vast open country in Colorado and neighboring states, he could be anywhere. It would be exciting news to know where Lazarus would choose to call his home territory.

I remember a few years ago my son called me with his exciting news. As luck would have it, I was in this Wet Mountain Valley enjoying the view of this spectacular range of mountains. I remember it so vividly because of the substance of my son’s phone call to me as I was driving.

“Dad, Jill and I have something to tell you!” my son Jordan announced. Those words over the phone send a father’s brain into overdrive. “What’s up?” was all the response I could give.
“We wanted to share with you before telling others. We are getting married.”

The bond I have with my son is precious and strong. So strong that he wanted me in on one of his proudest days.
 I’m still celebrating.

I bring up my son’s good time with me because of this.

Reasonably, my tenure with Lazarus has ended. Or has it?

Late in the afternoon, I’m once again enjoying the never-tiring view of the Sangre de Cristo range of mountains. This rewarding view is being seen as I sit in my favorite chair resting on my front deck.

From the valley floor south of me, high in the bluebird sky, blows in the unmistakable sound. “Kkrrrrrrrrr”, the sound fills my ears with a sweet-sounding proclamation of an approaching red-tailed hawk. He’s soaring effortlessly in the warm thermals, circling with the air currents that keep him aloft. My eyes watch him as he dances high above. Such a gift God has given me to be in tune with and appreciative of his awe-inspiring creatures. The hawk has intentionally removed himself from the thermal and is flying towards me. Still several hundred yards away, but I wonder. I give my best version of a red-tailed hawk’s call, hoping for a response.

“Kkkrrrrrrr”, I whistle. Immediately I’m met with a hawk’s cry from above, but coming closer. “Kkkrrrrrr,” I almost knock the chair over as I stand and grab onto the log railing of the deck. “Kkkrrrrrr,” I repeated. “Kkkrrrrrr” comes an immediate answer. I quickly took my phone from my pocket with my free hand and started recording a video. Could it be?
 It was highly convenient that my grasp still clenched the log railing as I almost fell backward. The hawk is less than 100 feet away, showing off its maneuvering skills. He is darting and catapulting in the air, showing off his God-given abilities. Witnessing this extraordinary aerial event at Higher Ground; my breathing and possibly my heart stopped.

Flying even closer now were not one, but TWO hawks, circling together! They performed acrobatic interlacing with their flights. One would dive and the other followed. Flapping of wings in unison signified that they were a team. These hawks appeared committed to each other forever.

I’m still celebrating!

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Lazarus the Hawk: From Near Fatal to Far-Away Freedom

Pitiful. It was the only way to describe the condition of this wild red tail hawk. Covered with parasites, emaciated from lack of food, this bird was just hours away from death. In my gloved hands I’m holding a fatigued, lifeless body. I’m debating whether to end this poor creature’s struggle. Putting him down would be the obvious decision to end its suffering.

Screenshot
notice his damaged right wing

  But that’s when I saw it. Those eyes. Fierceness was glaring from its eyes. The fierceness it takes to come alive!

Just another normal day here in Westcliffe, Colorado. Normal until the phone call from a good friend. Mike tells me that his dog just caught a hawk. He wanted to know if I would want it. 

Mike knows I am a master falconer. I’ve flown birds of prey for 25 years. I’ve never hunted with a hawk caught by a dog, though. Either that dog can jump high and fast, or this bird is near death.

New falconer-raptor pairings create excitement. We normally trap a wild bird of prey to begin our journey and relationship together. Falconers take a wild bird and within less than a day the bird will eat from the falconer’s hand. “Manning” involves birds of prey learning their human partners bring no harm but share in the adventure of coexisting with this majestic creature for a period.

Staci and I arrived at Mike’s with anticipation and a bit of dread. Nature can be cruel. Remember her number-one rule. It’s the survival of the fittest. When an animal in the wild gets hurt, sick, or diseased, it must overcome whatever has befallen it. Or well, survival of the fittest.

We take the hawk home. Staci and I are both concerned about this hawk’s condition. I’m an outdoorsman and an avid hunter. Strange as it may seem to some, I have a tender heart as well. I want to help this bird. This hawk can’t even struggle to get away from me. It just sits lifeless in my lap.

I have prepared small bits of raw chicken soaked in water to feed the hawk. Hopefully he will eat, but his listlessness is giving me worry. He doesn’t even hold his wings up. They fall droopingly by his side. The hawk has a damaged wing. The last four primary feathers are gone. Losing this many feathers will cause any bird of prey to not be able to stoop, maneuver, and most importantly, fly to safety.

What happened to him? Most likely he got sick and weakened so much that he couldn’t hunt. Birds of prey have to hunt to survive. They eat meat. They don’t eat a salad! Once he got in such awful shape that he can’t hunt, his condition became critical.

I carry his exhausted body to the mews built by me for my birds used in falconry. It’s a fenced-in pen where he (hopefully) can one day fly around. It won’t be today.

Jesses and anklets go around the hawk’s legs. Then, jesses and anklets attach to a leash. Picture your dog with a collar and a leash. In the same way, I can then control this hawk to stay near me and perhaps on my glove, like all other wild hawks I’ve caught over the last 25 years.

Poor bird doesn’t even resist my fumbling fingers placing the anklets on him. He’s in terrible shape. A healthy red-tailed hawk will weigh from 2 to 4 pounds. His weight showing on my scales as I weigh him: just over a pound. This is bad. But there’s something worse. He’s covered with flat flies and bird lice. Strange how in nature parasites can appear from nowhere and find the weakest of the weak.

The parasites have already damaged many of his feathers beyond repair. Feathers on his breast and belly that normally provide warmth are half eaten away by parasites.

Seeing the lice and flat flies crawling over him causes me to recoil. I’ve accidentally had bird lice and flat flies crawl onto me before when handling birds. It’s more than a creepy feeling. Even now, I’m itching under my hat, on my arm, on the back of my ear. Whether it’s just my imagination or a parasite, stripping and a shower before I enter my home is in order.

I set the hawk on the ground. He collapses into a ruffled bundle of feathers. He attempts to spread his wings in a defensive posture. Instead of presenting a scary spread-eagle stance, he exhibits all his damaged feathers. Instead of displaying a dangerous set of talons, he rests on his side with his talons flailed out helplessly in front of him.

 A calm and reassuring voice is about all I can contribute. He gets a gentle nudge from me to position him in an upright position. He will probably not survive.  But those eyes. The fierceness in his eyes.

The hawk doesn’t move as I sit on the ground next to him. Still scratching my beard from possible parasites, I reach out with a morsel of food. Gently I place the piece of chicken in its mouth. Hawks instinctively open their mouths when they are on the defensive. He’s too weak to bite me as I placed the meat in his mouth. For a few moments, neither of us moved. I then gently force the meat into the back of his mouth.

It’s up to him now. He will not receive nourishment if he refuses to swallow. I can do only so much for him.

He swallows! Thank ya Lord! He swallowed the morsel of food! It’s hard to tell whether he realized I was feeding him. It’s probably just an impulse to swallow when there is food being crammed down your throat.

I pushed three more bits of meat down his throat. Then we call it a night. Forcing more on the first day would not benefit him. His body may not digest his meal. He could go into shock. A step forward, yet many potential issues loom.

It was a restless night with little sleep as I waited for the morning light to arrive. What scene would unfold when I arrive at his pen? Half expecting a dead bird, half expecting a hawk lying unconscious, I entered with a bowl full of cut-up pieces of chicken. There he stood! He remained motionless as I sat down beside him. I couldn’t help but talk soothingly to him. A bit of joy swelled up within me as he blinked twice, trying to focus on me. Again, those eyes reveal something more than just to exist from within this bird of prey.

I placed a piece of meat within an inch of his beak and remained motionless to see his response. An immeasurable amount of joy brought a smile to my face when the hawk bit the meat from my glove and swallowed it. 

Quickly now I place bits of meat close to his beak. Just as quickly he devours them. We are on the right path, going in the right direction now. 

This hawk, on the second day of our journey, has gone from near-comatose to having a 50 percent chance of survival.

Day three was interesting. When I arrived at daylight to give him food, he had somehow crawled his way to a limb sitting on the dirt. He was using this as a perch. One more sign that he was returning from the dead. I placed a tasty piece of meat in front of him. With lightning speed, he reached out with his talons and clawed my gloved hand. 

You’ve heard the expression, “hurt people hurt people”? Well, hurt hawks hurt people as well. This was a wonderful reaction from this hawk, though. The alertness in his eyes was now accompanied with a defensive snatch of my glove. Good, he’s now aware of his surroundings.

One fascinating truth that falconers understand when training their hawks; don’t look at them. Only look at them using your peripheral vision. It’s best to see them from the side, not from the front. See in the wild, if a hawk is looking at another animal and the animal is looking straight back, one of them is getting eaten. Kill or be killed.

I don’t want this hawk to feel uncomfortable. I want him to relax. Over the next several days, he becomes conditioned to my movements. 

His diet that he’s being fed will always comprise meat. I vary the types of meat to give him various sources of minerals, vitamins, and most of all energy.

After seven days, his condition had improved tremendously. He even steps towards me to grab a bite of meat. This is important as it shows he’s trusting me. 

Why haven’t I named him, you ask? I didn’t want to jinx his progress from the grasp of death. My son shared with me that his name ought to be Lazarus. 

The Bible tells of Lazarus rising from the dead. It seemed fitting, so Lazarus it is.

Lazarus became accustomed to me. Suspiciously, it would take him a moment, but then he would hop to me. His damaged wing prevented him from flying long distances. He eventually would flap five or six times to propel himself awkwardly to my glove holding his meal.

Because of his damaged wing, I could not release Lazarus back into the wild. He would need new feathers. Hawks molt their feathers late in the summer. I committed to rehab Lazarus into the next year then release him.

Hawks are not pets. They remain wild. Even when falconers catch and use them to hunt, they automatically return to their wild way of life when released. Licenses and various permits are required to possess a bird of prey. This keeps you and them safe. Let me repeat: they are not pets.

A bond grew between Lazarus and me. I want to say it was affection or a bond of love. You need to understand, though, that in my falconry career I have had several hawks and owls. They view their human partner as a refrigerator. The hawk that is being used in the sport of falconry is free to fly away if it so chooses. The hawk realizes, though, that I have a chicken leg in my pocket. When we are on a hunt, if we don’t have success chasing a rabbit or squirrel, he knows I will call him in for a KFC raw chicken leg treat!

The bond between Lazarus and me was truly from love. At least from my point of view. Lazarus taught me so much about life. He became a way for me to understand spiritual matters.

Think about this. Two entirely different creatures, a hawk and a man, form a bond and share life with each other. Reminds me of two other creatures. God and me. The mystery is immense, but somehow a Holy, all-powerful God brings me back from the dead and creates a bond with me. Because of His love.

Did Lazarus love me? 

I was sitting at the other end of the pen after feeding Lazarus a belly full one day. This was about a month after we began our journey (and relationship) together. It was basically just a quiet time for me. You’ve had these quiet times if you’ve got pets or animals. Whether it’s your horse, dog, cat, or even the chickens, haven’t you had a reflective time just being around them?

Here’s what I will never forget. There’s even a selfie to prove it. Lazarus, a wild red tail hawk, was pretty much dead. Because of me, he gets a new lease on life. Lazarus and I sharing moments brought immense joy. What exhilarated me the most was when Lazarus flew within inches of me and landed on his perch. He did it on impulse, without prompting. I will forever say because I felt it in my soul, that Lazarus flew over to me as if to say, “Hey thanks friend.”

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

See Ya! Dan Ainsworth, wilderness preacher, and falconer

Next month’s blog….. The release of Lazarus back into the Wild! stay tuned