One in a series of essays about the author’s volunteer work at the Raptor Woodland Refuge in Bellevue, Nebraska. Links to the others are below.
Baron’s downward swoop jarred me like I was hit across the shoulders with an avian baseball bat. Luckily, only three talons pierced my neck. No blood, this time.
Every volunteer at the Raptor Woodlands Refuge south of Omaha knows you don’t turn your back on the disabled barn owl. There’s nothing Baron enjoys more, except the mice he’s fed, than to ambush us.
I’ve made that mistake three times. The previous two drew blood. But each clawing strike was my own fault. Through inattention, I didn’t show this still-wild predator the respect he’s earned.
I labor just feet from raptors whose talons are as large as my fist. You need to be aware of their locations and anxieties at all times. Yet even knowing Baron’s aggressiveness, I turned my back last Tuesday to rake up dung. It resulted in my third strike, both literally and figuratively.
Raptors aren’t domestic pets. Many accept being “on the glove” and socializing with audiences from safe distances. Yet each remains a predator with its own personality quirks.
Wild creatures like Baron deserve our respect.
Be First to Comment