One of the great joys of living in the mountains is the opportunity to observe all sorts of wildlife, every day, from the deck, the back patio, the windows and the garden. Especially the garden.
The operative word here is observe, because that’s really all we should ever try to do. I know it’s unwise to interfere in any way with the comings and goings of wild animals. Or to think of them as ours just because they hang out on our property, graze our hillsides, hunt our canyons.
I know this. But it’s so hard not to take a proprietary interest in the deer, quail, coyotes, foxes, bobcats, cougars and bears. Well, maybe not the bears. I’d just as soon never see bears here again after the last rogue bear to visit killed three of my neighbor’s sheep and crashed down two of our apple trees before moving on.
Most of all, I’m enraptured by the raptors. Red-tailed hawks and the kestrels that plague them, prairie falcons and the occasional golden eagle. Once in awhile, we get a fly-by condor-strayed from the condor sanctuary at Piru or from Mt. Pinos, where those bred in captivity have been released. A condor may look majestic flying high overhead. But not so cute up close. Truth is, that is one butt-ugly buzzard.
Since we moved into the new house seven years ago, there have been three pair of red-tailed hawks living in our canyon. One pair nests in an oak tree no more than 50 feet from the end of the house. I’ve watched the fledglings taking their flying lessons every spring, until one day they’re gone for good. The male of this pair was fairly ordinary in looks and behavior. But that female’s something special. She’s always been very vocal, calling as she soars over me digging or watering my garden. Sometimes she even answers if I whistle.
I resisted the impulse to give her a name, but I became very aware of her presence.
About a month ago, she started behaving strangely. I noticed her on the ground near the well pumphouse, walking around, then flying up and landing again in the same place. Then she started flying closer to the house, calling in a plaintive way. Her two fledglings had gone, and after a few days, I realized I hadn’t seen her mate either.
Late one afternoon, I found her taking a bath in the sprinkler. When I turned the water off, she preened herself a bit then flew up into the nearest oak, scaring the heck out of the woodpeckers that live there.
After that she flew back and forth across the yard, as low as the level of the deck, calling and calling. She was breaking my heart.
I called a friend of my daughter, who trains animals for the movies and is a falconer. I figured if anyone could explain what was up with this bird it was Joe Suffredini. He said she definitely wasn’t sad that her fledglings were gone. The mothers usually encourage them to leave when they get to be too much of a nuisance. The babies reach their adult size at about two months, can fly well and could feed themselves but will continue to demand food from Mom as long as possible. They don’t yet have adult plumage and their voices are higher pitched, but otherwise they are indistinguishable from adults.
Joe explained that if a male redtail loses its mate, it would probably remain solitary for the rest of its life. But if the male gets killed, the female may take another mate. The male may move into her territory or she may move to his.
The day after the sprinkler-bathing incident, the female was gone. I watched, waited and listened for her call. Not a peep. Two, three, days. Nothing. On the afternoon of the fourth day, I was in the kitchen and heard her call. I rushed out onto the deck, and there she was, circling the yard. A male was flying with her. After a few laps around the canyon, he perched in her oak tree and watched her, flying and calling. He was probably thinking, what’s up with this crazy chick?
Pretty soon they both took off.
Now, I don’t know if she was trying to get him to move into her territory, showing him how nice it is and all. And maybe he just wasn’t all that impressed with the layout and wanted her to come back to his pad. Maybe she knew all the time that she’d have to move.
I know it sounds weird, but I can’t help thinking she wanted to show off her new beau. Or maybe she just wanted to let me know she was okay.
Whatever, I’m glad she did. Oh, I know they’re wild and she’s not mine, not ever, no way. But I’ll miss her just the same. And whenever I hear a hawk calling, I’ll rush out to see. Just in case things don’t work out with her new guy.