There’s No Such Thing As A Stupid Question – No, Wait There Is

These girls can’t wait to ask awkward questions.

I work at a raptor display centre, as you might or might not know.   That means that my job is to educate the illiterate masses on birds of prey, their habitat, capabilities and conservation.  It also means answering hundreds of questions, most of which prove that no one actually listens to me during my displays!  I really don’t mind answering any and all questions, as I said my job is to educate people, but there have been a good few whoppers over my time here which have left me a bit flabbergasted.  Here are the top five stupid questions, increasing in stupidity as we go:

Why do you poo, Lump?

5) “Why do they poo?”  EVERY time I take birds, mainly owls, to a school or childrens’ group for a talk they will inevitably poo on the floor dramatically (the birds, that is, not the kids… as far as I know, at least).   Children love this, it leads to peals of laughter and awkward questions about pooping.  Makes me want to write a new version of that “Everybody Poops” book, called “Yes, Owls Poop, Get Over It” – I think it’ll be a best-seller!

Will he come back, really? Damn straight he will!!

4) “Do the birds come back?”  This is a really common one, usually asked of me when I’m walking past park visitors either just after or just before flying a bird.  They see what I’m carrying and then can’t really seem to understand the concept of a trained bird of prey, thinking that once given freedom these birds just fly off never to be seen again.  I can’t really imagine what they must think we do to keep the same number of birds every day, do they think we just replace them daily?  Disposable hawks, what a horrid concept and sadly how some so-called “falconers” operate!

Don’t be fooled, it’s meat he wants!

3)  “So what do you feed them, milk?”  This delightful question I actually got more than a few times during the late summer when we were imprinting the young barn owls.  For some reason members of the public seemed to think because they were  cute (well I think they were cute, others disagree about the aesthetic appreciation of a baby barn owl) and fluffy that they must be bottle-fed milk like all the other little fluffy thing people adore.  From their first meal to their last, it’s only meat they can digest.  Granted for the earliest life stages the mother will tear up little bits of it, but that’s all they eat.  Owls are predators, people seem to forget this with all the owl-mania currently happening in modern society today.   All I can say is that if you’d like to try to milk an owl, go ahead!  I dare you!

Speaks volumes without words!

2)  “How many words does he know?”  My coworker got this one after a display with a Harris Hawk.  I think that when we explain how intelligent these hawks are that some members of the public assume they’re glorified parrots, as they have no other basis for comparison when it comes to intelligent birds.  This might be part of the problem we’re facing when it comes to the private ownership of Harris’, since perhaps the average person has no idea what they actually are and require, thinking they must be able to treat them like a cage bird, especially as they’re no more regulated in this country than your tyical budgie.  However, I have to say that our Harris Hawks know a lot of words, sadly they all sound like “WAAAAAAAAAAAAGHH!”

And finally:

If it sits like a duck and quacks like a duck – it’s Boris.

1)  “Was Boris raised by ducks, and is that why he quacks?”  Boris is our Steppe Eagle, and his usual vocalisation does indeed sound like a quacking duck.  But, no.  A world of no.

Just no.

What Does Adventure Smell Like?

For when you want your armpits to smell adventurous.

Suremen deoderant thinks they know, and now my husband smells like it.  Personally, I’m not convinced – smells more like an escapade than an adventure.  (Though in reality it smells more like generic boy-scent than anything else.  What a shame, I wanted it to be the olfactory representation of swashbuckling and various derrings do.)

In other news, I was recently asked by Ali George, of 12 Books in 12 Months fame, to write a short fairy tale for an anthology to help fund Homespun Theatre UK‘s upcoming tour, produced by her talented sister Bee.  I wrote a short story titled “Once Upon A Time In Dundee” about a girl and a kelpie.  The anthology is now available for purchase and download on Smashwords in a bunch of sensible formats.  You should buy it!  It’s full of magic and awesomeness.

Personally, I think you should first douse yourself in “Adventure” and then read it – just to make it a fully multi-sensory experience!

Pretty Pictures and Procrastination

Done some blogskeeping today, bit of new formatting and new photos all round.  The amazing aerial shot in my header of Sinjari, our Saker Falcon at work, stooping to the lure was taken by Caitlin Tarvet, a very talented volunteer!  I just Picmonkied around with it a bit.  And my long-suffering husband took the one in my bio of myself and Gos the Gos.  Hurray for these fabulous photographers – without which, nothing I do would ever be documented, and that would just be sad!

In other news, I am SO VERY behind NaNoWriMo! But  I don’t particularly mind.  So long as I continue to write, even if a bit sporadically, that’s all I’m wanting out of it this year, as I’ve been too busy with work and life to devote the time needed to complete a 50k novel in a month.  Even though I’ve completed it before, and when working a proper full-time 9-5 job, I find that my energy levels just aren’t up to it now.

When I was working an office job I was sitting all day, and could come home and still have energy to pursue other things, and in fact I did a good amount of my daily writing at work anyways, during quiet moments or at lunch.  But now, after my days walking circuits of the park, lifting heavy things, swinging lures, talking with the public, weilding a machete to chop up rabbits, and generally running about from just after dawn until well past sunset this time of year, well I just don’t have much energy left.

However, I’m trying to enthuse myself so that it doesn’t require a massive outpouring of energy to do a bit of writing after work.   I remember times, and projects, where the writing seemed effortless.  Not so, just now.  It’s been slow, clumsy, and it shows in the writing.  Which does nothing to improve my enthusiasm to write more, and instead I end up spending an hour this morning tinkering around to make my new blog header.

A worthy pursuit, surely?

No.  Procrastination.

So I just need to knuckle down and write, really.  Which means I have to stop blogging about how little writing I’m doing, and actually go write instead!  And on that note, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

In Which My Mind Decides Things For Me

Where else but the internet can you create a book cover for a novel that hasn’t even been written yet?

It always happens.  My mind never listens to what I tell it to do.

I was all set and ready to write my first literary novel, my exciting new project of awesomeness, but no.  My mind decided I need to be writing a fantasy epic instead…  Yes.  It decided this without my prior consent.

It goes like this.

I’d told myself, no, I wasn’t going to do NaNoWriMo this year.  And yet, there I was on November 1st, only just yesterday, logging in to the website and updating my author details.  Sure, that’s fair enough, maybe I will just ignore it from here on out.  I’m supposed to be writing this literary novel, and I don’t think it’s a good NaNo project especially as I’ve already started it a bit.  Blah, blah, etc.

Cue today.  I had one of my shower epiphanies, where I find myself having the best “eureka” moments when in the shower.  Don’t know why, maybe washing my hair kickstarts my brain or something.  Anyways, the epiphany was to do with how I had been struggling with complexity in one particlar fantasy novel, but if I just combined several separate projects into one, then it might just lead itself to inherent complexity.  I then start to fit together various false-start novels, and thus was born my new epic fantasy novel: Three Kingdoms!

Fair enough, I think to myself, I’ll put that on the back burner while I do this literary thing.  But then, I found myself logging back on to the NaNoWriMo website and filling in the novel info page with Three Kingdom‘s synopsis!  Read it, it’s fairly ridiculous.  Just like the mind that created it!

Oh well, in the end it dusts off three projects of mine that had stalled and were going nowhere, breathing new life into them.  I fully admit to simply copy/pasting what I’d written of each project and creating my first three chapters, which is cheating by NaNoWriMo standards, but oh well, I don’t go into NaNoWriMo to “win” – I go into it to make myself write!  So, to that end, I’m already winning.

Huzzah!

The Austringer’s Lament

A call sounds out, and the Goshawk draws himself up to attention – he knows what it means.  That is the crow of a cock pheasant, a noise that signals autumn, the countryside and, in our case, the hunt.  His eyes, always scathing with orange fire, sharpen further.  We follow the sound and as we do he tenses, waiting.

Our quarry comes into view ahead of us, heads down and oblivious to our arrival.  I take a few hurried steps, but the Goshawk is impatient.  To wait any longer might give our position away, as my footfalls are far noisier than the hush of a predator’s wingbeats.   Pushing off my glove, he explodes into action.  He arrows towards the birds and they don’t even look up as he glides towards them, wings held still, trying for ultimate stealth.  He’s a grey ghost, a phantom; he’s death itself in winged form.

At the last moment, the pheasants see him.  They flush noisily and head for the nearest cover.  The Goshawk sees this and takes a new tactic.  He’s an old bird, canny with experience.  Instead of pursuing in a straight line, he suddenly arcs high above them.  Turning, he dives, stoops like a falcon, into the cover where they have just put in.  His impact makes the foliage shudder and I’m already running, anticipating a kill.

But before I can take more than five steps, there are birds leaping into the air again. First the red-brown cock birds and dull-tan hens, then the steel grey of the Goshawk.  He hadn’t managed to connect, or hold, in the cover, and my heart sinks.  He’s too far behind, and both of us know he won’t catch up.  He glides down into the field, defeated.  I bring out the lure, and whistle.

Within moments he’s returning to me.  I take a moment to simply watch his approach, to find myself the object of his burning gaze.  It’s unsettling in a way that makes my heart leap and my lips curve in a smile.  I swing the lure up to meet his outstretched talons and he takes this, at least, to ground in a tight grip.

I can feel his frustration, I can read it in his stance, his repeated footing of the lure, so I make in slowly for the trade off.  After a moment of tension, the Goshawk is sat on my glove again and I know that will be the last flight of the morning, as our stolen hour of dawn before I have to work comes to an end.  His meal today will not be the hot fresh meat he craves, but he tears into what I offer without hesitation.

Sometimes the hunter loses the hunt, this is the austringer’s lament, but there will be other quarry.  Flights like the one I witnessed, however, are beautiful and unique.  I have never felt more alive, more aware of my surroundings and also a part of that very landscape than when I pursue wild quarry with a trained predator.  This is what the Goshawk was born to do, and I’m just a privileged spectator he deigns to allow to assist him.

Autumn Awakening

The summer seems to deaden my creativity, only to reawaken this time of year. I’d blame it on the sunshine baking my brains, only this was the wettest summer on record so no help there. As soon as the mornings start to get that sharp chill and the mustiness of dead leaves rise like smoke through the air, that’s when I begin to itch for a blank document. I also start knitting a lot, but that might be more about self-preservation in my cold house than anything else.  It’s an exciting time of year to be a falconer as well, and the Goshawk is coming down in weight in preparation for the hunting season.  Autumn is definitely my favourite time of year, and I thrive best in it.

In particular, I’m gearing up to write a new novel. If I can carry out this project to its potential it will be the best novel I have written, as well as the most adult piece of writing I have ever accomplished. By “adult” I’m not meaning the subject matter, nor genre of what I’m intending to produce; this will be the first novel that represents me, the writer, as an adult.

I feel that all my previous novels have been trapped in my childish psyche, small attempts at adventuring in a world of make-believe. I’m not saying I will abandon Fantasy as a genre, but I won’t be defining myself by it, either. Those novels have certainly represented me in a way, but not as a whole, merely one facet of me. This will attempt to be all of me, both ugly and fair, in a way I’ve never accomplished before.

It’s a terrifying concept, as exposing as taking off your clothes in a room of strangers. And it’s as visceral as a knife in the stomach, spilling out entrails across sheets of virgin white paper. This is not a comfortable endeavour, but it will force out very good writing and I won’t be able to hold back as I have in the past.

I’m starting from a concept this time, and in fact I’ve taken inspiration from a poem which makes the part of me which thrilled in completing my degree in English Literature crow aloud. This will be a work that can stand up to literary criticism, though I shudder to define it by the “literary” genre. In a lot of ways it’s easier to write from a concept, instead of a plot or character, because depth is already present whereas in the past I have spent a lot of time trying to search out (or fabricate) meaning in a meaningless romp. In a lot of ways it’s also a lot harder because I have so many choices to make, characters and situations to build out of a nebulous concept. Not to mention how much I desperately want this to be finally, finally something I can be proud of.

No pressure, right?

Currently I’m just trying to get my thoughts in order, and this post has helped me. However, apart from research, I will be mainly avoiding the internet while pursuing this venture. I wonder if there have been studies done to prove how much general productivity among first world nations has dropped since the invention of Facebook and other social networking sites. I’m also not allowed to turn on my television, expect if I’m really good I might be allowed to watch Star Trek: TNG at 7pm tonight as a reward!  To help me be productive, I’ve also finally got our second bedroom made into a study, with the judicious placement of a patio table as a “desk”.  I think this will help me a lot, as I need a space that can be set away from the distractions of the rest of the house in order to think more clearly.

Right now I’m mainly trying to formulate a story out of this concept, or at least a persuasive character at the centre of my narrative. I forsee many long walks with the dog while  I try to work these things out. I love my concept, and I adore the poem in which I found it, so hopefully the forward momentum from that will carry me forward. I realise I sound a bit cryptic not going into specifics, but that’s just necessary at this stage in my writing so don’t ask for too many details unless you’re happy to be disappointed!

I’m going to go and disappear from the internet now and listen to the calls of stags in rut as they roar from across the fields, the pheasants in the cover and the wind rattling through the dying leaves. This is a good time to start something new, when things are in motion for a changing season. I’m ready to explore the limits of my creativity, my mind and my recurring carpal tunnel syndrome!  Wish me luck!

A Falconry Rant

At least once a day in the busy season, if not twice or more, I’ll overhear a particular comment as members of the public drift by to see the birds at our mews.  It’s usually some variation of, “Oh, now this I don’t like to see.”  And inevitably followed by some dramatic statement about how, “They’re chained to their perches, and not allowed to fly!   How cruel!”

Now usually I’m just out of eyesight of these people, and to address their comments directly is often impossible, or at the very least a bit creepy as I burst from the weigh room going, “Well, about that!”  So I generally go up to the fence and cheerfully ask if anyone has any questions.  Inevitably, the sort of person who’s vocal enough about their views to have made a comment in the first place will also be vocal about the perceived cruelty they’ve judged, in their ignorance, to be in front of them.  Their subtlety ranges from the careful: “How long do the birds sit out here like this?” to the blunt: “Isn’t it cruel to leave them on their perches all day?”

My current tactic has been a sort of upbeat, hyper-education in which I smile widely (this would be their cue to run), and start in about a wild raptor’s day-to-day life.  How catching prey uses so much energy that they need to conserve it for the chase.  The concept that they don’t spend their whole day swooping and diving just for the heck of it often comes as a surprise to these misinformed members of the public, unsurprisingly.

I tell them how our birds do get to fly, every day, in safe and controlled conditions.  To let all of our birds loose at once would result in a very messy end!  And that ones’ domestic dog needs a lead for its, and other dogs’, safety, so how is it very different?

I then go on to relate anecdotes about the time our Barn Owl, Louise, picked her knots and was free on the lawn one day – and promptly put herself in her mews to sleep.  Since they do fly free each day, if they didn’t like their living conditions they would just fly away!

Then I invite them to tell me if they’ve seen any wild birds of prey, and inevitably they’ll have seen a buzzard.  Who hasn’t?  I tell them how buzzards have become so lazy that they will often sit, for hours, on fenceposts by the sides of busy roads to wait for road kill, so that they don’t even have to put themselves through the bother of actually catching their own prey at all.

Sometimes they hear one of our birds shouting, and make an off-hand comment, “Oh he’s not happy.”  As if they know this after a five-minute observation of raptor behaviour.  I laugh, not cruelly at their expense, rather as a chuckle of long-sufferance from many, many hours of listening to all the screams, hoots and warbles that is the background music to my days.  I translate the call they’ve commented on, and then go on to talk about that bird’s personality, and relate stories of its hijinks.  They all have hijinks, it’s not hard to think of amusing ones to tell.

Generally by this point, the people who first saw rows of “chained” birds (where are the chains, I ask you?) forced to sit on perches all day now start to see the relaxed postures, the raised legs and preening.  The veil of outrage has lifted and their powers of observation start to return.  Sometimes they leave soon after, before I force more education into their closed minds, but other times they stick around and watch indulgently for a while.

There’s always the odd person who will never agree with us, because obviously they would know better than the people who make caring for birds of prey their life’s work.  Sure, we can agree to disagree.  Or rather, I can agree that you’re willfully ignoring the facts just to suit your self-righteous outrage.  Enjoy that.

But thankfully most people are happy to be informed otherwise, and I invite them to watch our birds flying free and see how the bond between falconer and bird works.  How impossible it would be to do what I do if I thought there was any cruelty to it.  We all come to this work from a love of these birds, and admiring their wild cousins, and we want to ensure their lives are just as good.  More so, since there’s no fear of starvation or an injury that wouldn’t be treated.

So when you say you “don’t like to see this”, I tell you to first try and actually understand what’s in front of you.  Ask us questions, and listen to our answers.  If you’re still outraged, well then please leave and maybe we won’t mind if you never come back!