The Summer of the Falcon Read Free Page A

her brothers’ falcons were tethered to their perches.
    There were four of these noble birds at Pritchard’s that summer: three Cooper’s hawks and a magnificent duck hawk, the falcon of the kings. The duck hawk was called Ulysses. As large as a crow, he had enormous shoulders, a tapered, streamlined body, and velvety black patches around his black eyes. His breast was creamy rose with ebony dots; his back was slate blue and black and white, and intricately marked; each feather was edged with white. Ulysses was their great pride. But Ulysses was not a “falcon” in the king’s English. He was a tiercel—a male. Only the bigger and more powerful female duck hawk could properly be called a “falcon.” June had often heard her brothers say that no other bird could bear this title in the days of falconry. But nowadays Ulysses and Zander were known commonly as falcons. Their wings were distinctively pointed, their tails long. June knew them all by the names the scientists had given them and could identify them as they flew. The Cooper’s hawks have long tails and short, rounded wings. The Buteos include the rough-legged hawks and the red-tails. They have broad wings and broad, rounded tails, and they soar in wide circles high in the air. Then there are the eagles. But the highest form of all are the falcons—in North America the gyrfalcon, the prairie falcon, the duck hawk, pigeon hawk, and the sparrow hawk.
    She had listened sharply to her brothers when they told her what had happened to the names for birds since falconry began. She admired the regal Ulysses, but was glad for her gentler “lady’s falcon,” and for his daintier size which enabled her to hold him in both her hands.
    Suddenly Charles ran out the back door on a trot and handed June some falcon food. “Here are some tidbits for Zander. He’s still a baby so you’ll have to feed him twice a day.”
    Don joined them. “He’ll get hunger streaks the way Jess did if you don’t feed him right.” He pointed to his female Cooper’s hawk. On her tail were three fine white lines, straight across every feather, which showed a lack of bone and viscera and other nutrients, marking the days before Don found her.
    Jim’s young voice interrupted them, “Aunt Roodie has teeth with marks across them. Are those people hunger streaks?”
    “No,” Don answered him seriously, “probably a high temperature.” He slipped on his gauntlet, put his fist behind Ulysses’ feet, and tapped the bird’s legs. Ulysses stepped on his hand to start the morning routine of “flying” the falcons.
    As June fed Zander, she watched the process closely, studying carefully the techniques of falconry she would soon be employing. A throb of excitement went through her as she watched Ulysses, tethered to a long cord, fly from the creek to the maple at the sound of three whistled notes. Don fed him small bites of food so that he would remain hungry enough to fly the distance four times. Then he gave the bird a full-course meal. Because the summertime was muggy and was poor weather for hunting, Ulysses was merely being exercised to keep him fit for the time in late August and early September when the nippy air would brighten the bird and he would hunt pheasants.
    Charles was struggling with his Cooper’s hawk. “Jess doesn’t even want to eat today,” he said as he held a meal three feet from the hawk. Jess stared at the food but would not move.
    “Well, Zander is hungry,” June said, and stuck a bleeding thumb in her mouth.
    “That’s a spunky little bird,” Don observed as he brought Ulysses back to his perch. “He ought to make a good hunter—if you can ever get him whipped into line.” He looked at June, knowingly. “It sure takes work and patience.”
    For an instant her anger rose. Then Zander fluttered in his basket and cried. She smiled and said solemnly, “I promise to do it right.”
    For a week June played with Zander, letting him sit on her finger or chase