Loss
It has been a year of losses . . . on several fronts. Some in areas of my private life, too complicated and personal for this forum. And unfortunately, one in particular, which can be appropriately covered here.
On Saturday, December 11, 2004 at about 12:40 p.m. Pente gave up her struggle for breath, and her will to live.
I had hoped that my Amazon girl was holding her own, and might be one of those birds that survives aspergillosis. If not getting better, at least she didn’t seem to be losing ground. But on Friday night she took a turn for the worse. She had been placed in her mews during the day, for fresh air, but to protect her from the sleet and rain that were falling. When I brought her in that evening, she was panting, with no exertion. I gave her the evening meal, with her medicine, but shortly she threw it all up. The next morning she was gasping for breath, and had to be pried from off her perch. She would grip no more. With a few close friends, their love and support there to bolster me, we waited out her final hours.
There is a spiritual side to falconry, perhaps not often discussed, but there nonetheless. To touch a creature that is wild, and will continue to be such, regardless of whatever training we place upon them. You can feel their fire sometimes, the look in their eye, the beat of their heart. When you release them to pursue that most basic behavior, hunting, you are allowed to commune with nature in a way that so frequently is no longer accessible in our modern age and times. There is the beauty of where you hunt, the peace of the walk, frequently alone, shared only with your bird, and a primal thrill when your bird is successful. These things, and so many others, touch the soul.
Frequently we allow ourselves to form bonds and ties of love to a source that is either incapable, unwilling or unable to reciprocate. It is the price we pay for being alive, sentient, and filled with the capacity to love, to care. When the bond is severed, intentionally or otherwise, it can be incredibly painful.
It is how we deal with that loss, how we cope with it, that tests who we are, shapes our personality, and guides our steps in future decisions. To vow to never allow the bonds to form again is certainly no way to settle the pain. But it takes courage to acknowledge that to go forward, to try again, puts us at risk to experience the loss all over again. To know that it is worth it . . . . that for whatever the cost, it is truly worth it, for the hope that someday you can feel that warmth again. This is the hope that makes the journey down the path of life tolerable.
The reports are sent off to the State and the USFWS. Soon, one quiet evening, I shall release her physical form through flame. She was a good hawk, as hawks go, and a very excellent falconry bird. I’m sad that she did not live, so that I could have returned her again to the wild, which I had planned to do in a year or two. I wanted to release her, so she could find a mate, and raise chicks of her own. But that will not happen now for my Pentesilea, my beautiful Amazon Warrior Queen. A tragic end for her, as for her namesake . . . who according to myth, died at the hands of Achilles. Hmmm . . . maybe I should never name a hawk again after a figure that dies tragically!
On Saturday, December 18, I shall take up the task again. There are a few days left in this 2004 trapping season . . . I hope to capture a new hunting partner, and begin the relationship all over again.
Take up the path again . . . .
On Saturday, December 11, 2004 at about 12:40 p.m. Pente gave up her struggle for breath, and her will to live.
I had hoped that my Amazon girl was holding her own, and might be one of those birds that survives aspergillosis. If not getting better, at least she didn’t seem to be losing ground. But on Friday night she took a turn for the worse. She had been placed in her mews during the day, for fresh air, but to protect her from the sleet and rain that were falling. When I brought her in that evening, she was panting, with no exertion. I gave her the evening meal, with her medicine, but shortly she threw it all up. The next morning she was gasping for breath, and had to be pried from off her perch. She would grip no more. With a few close friends, their love and support there to bolster me, we waited out her final hours.
There is a spiritual side to falconry, perhaps not often discussed, but there nonetheless. To touch a creature that is wild, and will continue to be such, regardless of whatever training we place upon them. You can feel their fire sometimes, the look in their eye, the beat of their heart. When you release them to pursue that most basic behavior, hunting, you are allowed to commune with nature in a way that so frequently is no longer accessible in our modern age and times. There is the beauty of where you hunt, the peace of the walk, frequently alone, shared only with your bird, and a primal thrill when your bird is successful. These things, and so many others, touch the soul.
Frequently we allow ourselves to form bonds and ties of love to a source that is either incapable, unwilling or unable to reciprocate. It is the price we pay for being alive, sentient, and filled with the capacity to love, to care. When the bond is severed, intentionally or otherwise, it can be incredibly painful.
It is how we deal with that loss, how we cope with it, that tests who we are, shapes our personality, and guides our steps in future decisions. To vow to never allow the bonds to form again is certainly no way to settle the pain. But it takes courage to acknowledge that to go forward, to try again, puts us at risk to experience the loss all over again. To know that it is worth it . . . . that for whatever the cost, it is truly worth it, for the hope that someday you can feel that warmth again. This is the hope that makes the journey down the path of life tolerable.
The reports are sent off to the State and the USFWS. Soon, one quiet evening, I shall release her physical form through flame. She was a good hawk, as hawks go, and a very excellent falconry bird. I’m sad that she did not live, so that I could have returned her again to the wild, which I had planned to do in a year or two. I wanted to release her, so she could find a mate, and raise chicks of her own. But that will not happen now for my Pentesilea, my beautiful Amazon Warrior Queen. A tragic end for her, as for her namesake . . . who according to myth, died at the hands of Achilles. Hmmm . . . maybe I should never name a hawk again after a figure that dies tragically!
On Saturday, December 18, I shall take up the task again. There are a few days left in this 2004 trapping season . . . I hope to capture a new hunting partner, and begin the relationship all over again.
Take up the path again . . . .
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