"Falconry is not a hobby or an amusement: it is a rage. You eat it and drink it, sleep it and think it. You tremble to write of it, even in recollection. It is, as King James the First remarked, an extreme stirrer of passions." T.H. White

The Godstone and Blackymor, 1959 (First American Edition) Van Rees Press, New York, page 18.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Feb 8 – Chases without end


Have you ever had a day where you felt like you were on a treadmill?  No matter how fast you ran your goal was always on the horizon, never getting any closer?  Well Rebel and I had that kind of day today.  

We ran over to the old horse stables to run up a few squirrels.  It was a little overcast and I was anxious to get out ahead of the rain.  Work was pressing hard and Rebel was definitely not getting enough flying time.  We had been out here and there but the outings were short due to weather and time constraints.  This bird was very geared up to fly.

We ran a squirrel almost as soon as we were out of the car, but these guys at the stables have always been really smart.  They live in the largest live oaks I have ever seen and there are plenty of knotholes into which to escape.  We ran the first one in a circle around four trees for about fifteen minutes before it literally disappeared.  The second squirrel escaped somewhere in the old barn while we were looking elsewhere.

We decided to explore a little more of the property.  We walked all the way back to the lake and around.  We had three more chases that ended in frustration and Rebel was getting a tad bit miffed.  Well, I guess that that is only accurate if you consider a bird who screams at you when she comes to the fist or a bird that glares at you like you just stepped on its nest every time you call it “a bit miffed”.

It was starting to drizzle and I knew we should just head back when Rebel spotted one more and gave chase.  This one took us out of the woods and into a small trailer neighborhood.  The local dogs let us know we were in the wrong place and a few people came out to see.  I quickly explained who I was and what we were doing.  Rebel had lost he squirrel by this point anyway. 

We headed back to the truck heads hanging a bit low.  I would love to end this telling about that last chase right at the barn and how it ended with a great catch, but it didn’t happen that way.  We did get one last squirrel to run but it was the smartest of the bunch.  It never left the core of the tree until Rebel had flown past for the umpteenth time.  At that point, it gave a smartass salute and bailed out on the roof of the barn and was gone.  If my eyesight weren’t so bad, I would swear that the blasted thing actually gave me the finger…

I had had enough.  I called Rebel down to the lure and leashed her up.  She must have flown on seven squirrels and every chase had lasted what seemed like forever.  She didn’t think she was too tired though.  She wanted more, but I wanted dry.  I cropped her up nicely for her efforts, but a baleful glare followed me out of the mews when we got home.  I guess that she was still thinking that it was all my fault…  Women…  Wait.  I’m not even sure if she is a she…

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