The Hawk

Many years ago, when there was a much younger man under my hat, I shot a hawk. Now before you call the Conservation Police or PETA, let me explain. It was an accident. I was squirrel hunting, a squirrel ran out of a creek bed and up a tree. The sun was directly behind the tree. The fox tail ran across a limb and I fired at the shadow up in the tree. And out of the tree came a fluttering, fumbling and wounded hawk. I was as shocked as the hawk was and a little mad at myself for taking a shot into the sun that way. I knew better. It was young mans mistake that I never made again.

The great bird just sat there stunned, luckily only a few shot had hit him, but he could not fly. His wing took the greatest impact. Standing there looking at this beautiful bird, with it’s multi-layered browns, white accents and of course the reddish brown tail where it get its name, made me realize that I had to somehow right this wrong. I took off my coat, wrapped him up and headed for home. I had to heal this bird if I could.

I placed the predator fowl in my garage. I covered his head, bound the legs, and then set about removing shot. I applied ointment, a popsicle stick for a splint (that I wired on so he couldn’t pull it apart with his beak) and cleaned and taped his lacerated leg. I worked ever so carefully for a long time. I built a nest using straw and a branch from a tree in the yard. We named him Harry. Patty brought water and liver loaf for food and drink. What to feed a hawk? .

Long before the internet, I had to search encyclopedias to find the proper diet for this handsome bird. I finally discovered just how much hair that a bird of prey requires in its diet. I then fed mice, and rabbit parts from my hunts to him for the many weeks that I nurtured him.

After a while I removed the tape from the leg and he began to walk. I would lift him up with gloved hands and he began to sit on my arm like a falcon rests on his master. One day, out of the blue, Harry crawled up on my shoulder and that became his favorite place to sit. We became good friends. After a few hooded inspections of the wing, the day came when I felt it was time to remove the splint. As soon as I removed it the hawk spread his wing, slowly, stiffly and back again . He did this exercise for a few days. And then he flew.

As I entered the garage to feed him one day, the bird for the first time FLEW up to my shoulder. I fed him a piece of rabbit meat and knew it was nearly time to take Harry home.

One bright fall day I hooded Harry and drove back to the exact spot of the accident. I removed the hood and stepped aside. He looked around, then at me and flew up to a branch. He sat for a second and then flew back to the ground beside me. “Harry, your home now” I said. I picked him up and walked to the edge of the woods and with an underhanded thrust I launched him into the air. He spread his wings and flew into the bright blue sky, circling higher and higher in the updraft. I smiled and felt relieved when I heard Harry give his piercing hunters cry from high in the air. It was wonderful.

A few weeks later I was finishing a hunt when a Red Tail flew from a distant tree across the pasture to a branch just two feet above my head. It was Harry. I held out my arm but this time he just looked at me with his head cocked a little to the side. Nature had reclaimed him. I was glad. “Good to see you Harry, old buddy,” I said, “how‘ve you been?” He sat and looked at me for a few seconds longer then showed the white underside of his wings, sprang from the limb and lifted himself up, up into the grey autumn sky. “Take care of yourself Harry,” I said aloud, “thanks for forgiving me”.