As most of you know from past years Jessie is a captive bred Tundra Peregrine that I have had since 2005. I picked her up from her mother and siblings at 28 days old. I choose her from her siblings because of her attitude. There is a lot to choosing one bird over others, and I could probably write a book about it. With enough exposure to "baby" falcons one soon learns that some are exceptional given the right exposure and training, others just fill a space. Not all birds are equal, and the difference is due to its attitude toward life and eating.
Earlier than 19 days and a falcon will be imprinted if you take it from its mother and siblings. Twenty eight days seems to be the sweet spot for Peregrines. At that age they still know that they are a falcon, but can still learn to be happy with their life, since they have known nothing else but being with a falconer. Its still easier to screw up than get it all right. However when it clicks it can be magical.
It was for the most part like that with Jessie. When I plopped my butt down on her nest ledge her siblings ran to the furthest corner. Jessie
sat there and looked at me. She accepted my presence quicker than her siblings. That trait has stayed with her all her adult life.
She spent most of every evening lying on my chest and in my lap till she was able to fly. Her first year I think that she killed about 12 Ducks. That was good for the place that I had to fly her. Lots of the days that we hunted were nothing more than learning experiences for her in what she needed to do to be able to catch some of these Ducks. Its not as easy as it looks.
In essence she gave me 12 years of some of the best falconry that I ever had. After that first time out, she never failed to come back and almost all of them with a Duck to her credit. She would not give up, and she feared nothing. With most falcons it is a one shot deal. If they don't kill on the first try, they quit or go off sight seeing. Not Jessie, she would set down on the ground and wait until she caught her breath again and then she would mount up to what she thought was a good vantage point in the sky, spread her wings as if she was saying "pull"! Then she would take another shot at them. If they made the mistake of flying over the ground she would knock them out of the sky.
She differed from other breeds of falcon in that she did not sit on poles. If she got tired, she would sit on the ground. She was not afraid to go into cover either flying on on foot. Ducks that hid in the briars were not doing them selves any favors.
She killed four Geese in her career, but mostly took Ducks. The year she was two, we moved to Jordan Valley. I didn't have enough time to build a Mews for them at the time and she chewed the knot off her leash and flew off. After I crashed my plane looking for her she came home three days later and demanded that I pick her up. She had decided that she didn't like sleeping outside at night. She had a full crop when she came back to me, so it wasn't for food.
White Front Goose.
Mallards were her main prey.
Betsy my English Pointer was her back up, and ran with her, and stayed with her when she killed.
She had no fear of cover. It took me about 30 minutes to find her in this Sage.
In her 13th year she decided that she didn't want to wrestle with Ducks any more. All her family from Parents to siblings did not live more than 13 years. I decided that she had earned her retirement, so I have fed her in her mews every day.
I had originally thought that she would soon die as all her siblings had by 13 years of age. Well, the stubborn old broad didn't die. This last year it began to bother me that she was just sitting there day after day with nothing to do or look forward to. I remembered that she had come back home when I had lost her so many years ago, and thought that there should not be a reason that she would not still do that.
So then I was left with the chore of rationalizing whether it was a betrayal of trust to loose her shackles of captivity, or was it my responsibility to free her to whatever fate rules the lives of wild birds. While she, in her prime was capable of killing a Canada Goose on her own, and drive a Swan out of the sky by herself, The normal life span of most falcons is about 6 years. She is twice that and more. Roughly the same age as myself. There fore she is stiff and not as maneuverable or strong for that matter. After all she hasn't flown for two or three years. However if she is smart enough to base here, I can feed her when she isn't able to catch any thing. That of course was the big "IF".
I had been wrestling with this decision for most of the winter. The one thing that helped was my experience with Jasper, Tami's Kestrel that lived here for six years, and raised a family every year. He lived here on the place and wasn't above looking me up when he was a bit hungry.
I finally decided that she deserved the chance to decide her fate. That perhaps dying free was better than a retirement home with no one to play checkers with. The one thing that gave me hope was that if I did it right she too would stay here and come back when she needed food. After all, there are no distractions or down sides to being here. She has hunted here and had been flown here for at least 12 years. So I bit the bullet and fed her an entire pigeon, then took the window off her mews, so that she could come and go when ever she decided to. I crossed my fingers and went back in the house to get a book and beer and see how she would handle it. By the time I got back with my chair she had eaten her fill and "flew the coop"! I looked for some sign of her the rest of the day, with no luck.
That evening she was back sitting on her log in the mews. I got up around 7 am the next morning and she was gone. That was the fifth of April. As you can imagine I have been looking for her every where that I go, and flogging myself every step of the way.
A Peregrine has a pretty fast metabolism and prefers to eat every day. I had fattened her as much as I could prior to her release, but she had to be too soft and out of shape to be able to fly anything down, and her inability to get in shape the last time I tried to fly her, left little doubt that she was not going to be killing anything for some time.
With every day that went by I became more convinced that she had somehow gotten too far away to find her way home again. I cannot tell you how many times I went to the window or the door to look for her over the last week.
I order my Dog and Cat food from Amazon, and I had a big box on my back porch, that needed to go to the hanger so I could burn it. I also had some other stuff that I was taking out, so I was dragging the box. I drug it into the shop, and scared the hell out of Jessie who had spent the night roosting in the shop. I hadn't closed the door until just before dark, and she had apparently walked into the shop and found her perch.
I hurried to the house to get some food for her, and tossed her the lure with a big chunk of meat on it. Needless to say I am ecstatic about her return. I have no clue where she has been, and while it is possible that she hasn't killed, it is not likely. She was flying as strong today as I have ever seen her. While she was hungry, she didn't act as though it was anything more than breakfast for her, not salvation as if she had not eaten for 6 days.
When she finished her meal, she flew to the Motorhome and "chupped" her thanks for her breakfast. Connie and I were up replacing the windsock when she flew by and landed on the hillside. There is no way to guess how long her freedom will last before she succumbs to inevitability. I just hope that she enjoys each day as long as she can. I'll be here for her if she needs me.
As I write this now she has flown back into her mews through the back window and is sitting on one of her outside perches.
