If It Comes Back...

Ghosts in the bush, big-boned lady hawks , and being seen.

“Ghost in the Bush” pencil and watercolor on plant print 2024

I raised Grohl, my tiercel (male) Cooper’s hawk from a 15 day-old chick along with his brother Bowie. I named him Grohl because I thought he was a cool, personable dude, if not a bit of a high-strung rock star. Bowie on the other hand was his opposite, spooky and aloof. They grew up together on my screened-in porch where they could watch the world. Then when they could fly, they spent several weeks set free in the neighborhood learning to land in trees, hide in summer-leafed boughs and stalk house sparrows. I would call them in for a meal in the evening and tuck them up for the night, safe from great-horned owls and the rest of the predatory night shift. Grohl appreciated this arrangement and our friendship. Bowie found this arrangement distasteful and increasingly rebuffed my comradery.

I had hoped to hunt with them together, but not all hawks want to partner with a falconer. No one enjoys having their affections rejected, but I understood. This is falconry. You can create routines, bridge the language gap, build trust, and bond, but you can never reshape the particulars of a wild bird’s heart.

So, when it was time to bring both the boys in to begin training to hunt with me, I let Bowie stay out, calling him down for food until even food wasn’t enough of a reason to be near me. The statistics say that 80% of raptors don’t survive the trial-by-fire that is their first year in the wild. I had at least given him a strong start and better odds. My hurt feelings were not important.

Grohl, however, thrived as a hunting partner and we were ridiculously fond of each other. In fact, the last couple of springs, I would say he was a little too fond of me, or rather, my shoe. My friends teased me about how I could get any raptor to let me snuggle it, even a Cooper’s hawk. This isn’t really true. It was just Grohl. And for six years, I delighted in opening the door to his room in the morning and being greeted with a hearty “kek!,” the Coops version of “hey friend!” Then while I measured out kibble from the bin in his room to get the day started for the dogs as well, we would kek back and forth like reunited college roommates.

I’ve known for a couple of years that I should let the little man try out a more wild life, but I loved him and the world is a dangerous place not just for sparrows, but for 300 gram raptors as well. I wanted to be with him trying to keep him safe for the rest of his life, and likely he wouldn’t mind. However, some of my greatest joys in falconry have been being a chapter in a raptor’s life and not their whole existence. I have released many birds over the last 30 years, and knew the right thing to do, but this one was going to hurt.

It wasn’t my intention to release Grohl on Valentine’s Days specifically, but the timing and the weather forecast made it the ideal release day. I took off his equipment, opened the backdoor, and waited for him to realize he was unencumbered. He shot off the glove and landed on a telephone wire, where he sat for half an hour, trying to decide what to do next. Once he decided, I didn’t see him again.

I have tried to put it out of my mind that I would never know what happened to him. I imagined he had moved on to another territory, was eating well and had no interest in showing himself, or was dead. After three weeks, I figured I would never know.

 Last Friday, I knocked off from work a little early to garden in the front yard. It had been a long week, and I was in a foul mood. I was hoping that some dirt therapy would boost my mood. I had been yanking out sprouting foxtails by the roots for almost an hour when I heard a Coops call out “kek!!” and I immediately answered back out of habit.

It answered me.

Surprised, I looked up to see a beautiful little Coops cruise by dipping to the level of the eves when he got above me. He circled the house five times, each time answering my excited "kek!" Then he flew into one of my neighbor’s trees, ghosting into the bush.

Suddenly, my heart was full to bursting. My little buddy of the last 7 years is obviously thriving. All the same, I left him a quail leg snack just in case and more importantly refilled all the bird feeders that have been swarmed with house sparrows, house finches, and juncos. He's got a good selection and I hope I get to see him again, but If I don’t, what I was given is plenty.

The old saying goes that if it comes back, it’s yours, but that’s not quite right. There are a lot of unsavory or desperate reasons for a living being you’ve set free to come back. (And if you can’t think of any, I would be happy to introduce you to a few of my exes.)  

What gave me joy was to be recognized. What filled my heart was to be seen. I was no longer needed and Grohl obviously had hawk things to do. Perhaps somewhere nearby there was a big-boned lady hawk demanding her next meal and if there was, he still took a few minutes to essentially say, “I know your face.” I know your face too, Grohl. I know the faces of all who have touched my life in deeply meaningful ways, even if we don’t belong to each other.

So, if we ever meet on the street and I greet you with a hearty, “kek!,” you will know what I mean.

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