I have kept and flown many species of raptors over the years and I have to admit that my least favourite was always the owls. They just never done it for me, give me a stooping falcon or a soaring Harris-hawk any day. I just never saw the attraction that some folk have with owls, just as I never saw the attraction that some people have for snakes and piranha fish; creatures that just sit there and stare back at me was never really my cup of tea.

But I do have an interest in our own Irish native species of flying predators, whether diurnal or nocturnal. But that’s not a good enough reason either; I just like this little guy, I put him out in the morning, feed him during the day and put him in at night. But since I opened the Bird of Prey Centre he has been a major attraction with the public, kids and adults alike love to handle him and they are more than welcome to as he takes it all in his stride. I haven’t flown him as yet but my daughter has done some work with him on the creance (a strange word that I cannot find the root of) meaning a long training line used for safety just before a bird is flown free.

Anyway back to his little episode. I have a couple of small raptors and during the recent bad weather I have been watching them like a hawk and taking them indoors at night when the temperatures plummeted to scary minuses. We also have a little Boobook owl from Australasia and a European Kestrel which between the three of them don’t weigh more than a bag of sugar.

As I mentioned earlier, a few days ago Spook decided to become dead. Olwyn; our little Boobook owl was off colour and was given extra food in the form of mice and hamsters to make sure he got through the cold spell in one piece. But Spook never showed signs of being down in condition. This is a major problem with birds and one of the reasons there are a million dog and cat vets out there for every one vet specialising in birds. Dogs, cats and humans look sick when they are, but birds are covered in feathers which camouflage any illness until the very last minute or beyond.  Spook showed no signs of being down in condition until my Fabulous Assistant picked him up one morning and I glanced over and saw him use his wing to balance himself on her glove. He seemed alright but a bird that drops his wing as a means of balancing instead of his usual quick flap and a quick hop to the glove was a sign of concern. I took him on my fist then and saw that something was definitely amiss.

I suspected either a slow loss of condition, but he had been given extra food and should have been alright. Or, worst case scenario, Aspergillosis. Now if you want to scare a human, diagnose cancer and shout the C word at them, but if you want to scare a bird of prey there is very little scarier than Asper, as it is lovingly know as. It is a fungal infection of the air sacs and lungs and I won’t bore you with the details but if you ever find yourself covered in feathers and your lungs full of Aspergillosis spores, well, as they say in the bible; may god have mercy on your soul.

I missed the vet and connected to the Inter-web the first chance I got to find out more and quickly discovered that if Spook was a two hundred pound ostrich and the disease was in its initial stages I might have had some chance. But Spook only weighed nine ounces and was already showing signs of being in serious trouble.

As I mentioned earlier I like the little guy and gave him what I reckoned was his last feed as I placed him on a towel in a dark box by the fireside. As bedtime called he could not even stand and looked up with those big super-model eyes, eyelashes blinking as his life eked away.

Life is tough and I have been through this many times. I have lost too many people and too many pets, dogs and birds, companions all, both human and not. If Spook was dead in the morning, well ………… so be it.

Next morning I put the kettle on before I picked up his dead body. Always best to face tea before Rigor Mortis. But there he was looking up, fluttering his eyelashes like Kate Moss. But all that day he didn’t eat and it was not until that night that I decided to force feed him to make sure he had food in his stomach. Most birds have a crop; a bag between their mouths and their stomach that stores food as digestion takes place. But owls don’t have this storage facility and as I tried to put food past his gagging point where he needed to swallow it he took great pains to work it from the depths of his belly and successfully threw it all back up again. I eventually went to bed in despair and tossed a couple of day old chicks into his box as an afterthought.

Next morning I checked him before putting on the kettle and there he was, sitting on his towel, looking up at me and pretending nothing was wrong. And beside him was a pellet made from the waste bits of the day-old-chicks that he had consumed sometime during the night.

Anyway, it turned out not to be Aspergillosis as he is still alive. And as I tap away on my keyboard now he is sitting on the back of my chair, hopefully happy as the proverbial Larry. He is preening himself and I noticed he just crapped all over my lap-top case.

One of these days I will get sense, straighten out my life and take up a proper career without these stresses and worries.

Wish me luck…….

Tom

To anyone interested,

Woodlands Falconry and Bird of Prey Centre will be featured on the RTE One Nationwide programme on Monday the 11th of January.

Cheers Tom

We are open as usual all other days from 11am until dark.

In January it’s back to normal;    open Wednesday to Sunday

]]> http://blog.woodlandsfalconry.com/opening-hours-over-the-christmas-period/feed/ 0 http://blog.woodlandsfalconry.com/woodlands-opening/ http://blog.woodlandsfalconry.com/woodlands-opening/#comments Sat, 21 Nov 2009 21:36:52 +0000 tom http://blog.woodlandsfalconry.com/?p=270 I would like to thank everyone that attended the official opening of Woodlands Falconry and Bird of Prey Centre on the 15th of November.

And to all those that couldn’t make it, but sent their best wishes.

The whole day had a fantastic atmosphere about it and somehow or other the sun managed to shine all day. (I had prayed to every god I know; from Gneisha to Thor, with a special “please” to the Aztec Sun God)

A big thanks too to the speakers; Siobhan from Wicklow Leader who helped me so much. And Terry Flanagan from “Mooney Show” fame who was so good to change his plans to be there.

And a huge thank you to Saoirse Ronan who said a few words and cut the ribbon for us, and to herself and her parents who gave some super prizes for the raffle.

Anyway, it couldn’t have went better and I just wanted to thank everyone for putting in so much work.

Cheers,

Tommy

We are situated in Rathwood Home and Garden, just five minutes from Tullow County Carlow.

Contact us:
059-9156878 Wednesday to Sunday 10.30 ‘til 5

It is on the border of Wicklow/Carlow.

Just take the Shillelagh road out of  Tullow and just after you enter Co Wicklow, Rathwood is on your right, you really can’t miss it!

This is something that I have been working on for the past year or so and all the hard work is finally coming together!

Come and spend some time and meet all the birds;

eagle, owls, falcons and hawks.

Hope to see you all there,

Wish me luck, thanks

Tom

There are two types of bird babies in the world, precocial; the pretty, cute, fluffy, endearing ones, and altricial; the helpless, ugly, smother-it-at-birth, useless, needs-to-be-fed-by-it’s-parents-for-weeks type.

Precocial babies are like the chickens and ducks we are so familiar with. They can stand, feed, run, and in the case of ducks and other waterfowl, even swim soon after hatching. These precocial babies need to “imprint” on their parents and siblings straight away so they can recognise them, stay with them and hopefully not get lost as they search for food.
This group of birds are hatched with their eyes open and are covered with a heavy growth of down to keep them warm until their feathers grow. If these babies are hand-reared by humans they see the human as their parent straight after hatching and will follow him or her everywhere, clambering over, through or around obstacles so as not to let their “parent” out of sight. Very soon after they leave the eggshell they dry off and are up and about as a family, leaving the nest site and head off in search of food and shelter.

Ostriches, rheas and emus are precocial, as are most grass eating birds and this of course makes perfect sense; they are up and away under the protection of the parents instead of waiting around for the parents to return to them after spending hours feeding.
Deer, elephants and antelopes do the same; no hanging around waiting for mammy’s return, better to be up within a matter of hours and away with her so she can look after the babby and feed at the same time.

Humans (and all the other apes) on the other hand are altricial. There is no way these pink, furless babies are going anywhere in the immediate future. Take my friends baby for instance. Such a useless lump of lard; crapping where he lies, can’t even stand up with or without assistance and spends his day sleeping or calling out for more food when he knows his mammy is about.

Some birds use this technique too. The whinge-‘til-you-get-fed-technique, and it works. All the birds of prey use this method as it would be impossible for them to hunt effectively with a load of babies in tow. Better to leave them behind in a nest and await the return of parents with food. Pigeons and other foraging birds like finches, sparrows and crows all belong to this group. Their eyes are closed when they hatch and they are completely naked, depending on the brooding parents to keep their body temperature regulated.
The reason altricial birds eyes do not open until they have grown up a bit is quite a simple one; there is just no point. Take hawks, finches or thrushes for example, while their parents are out foraging it would be a disaster if their hungry babies begged food off every passing bird or moving shadow. They would be prey to crows within the hour. Better to be blind and silent until the right mother comes along.
Wolves, dogs, cats and many other animals use this technique too. It is safer for their babies to be helpless for longer instead of exploring outside the den too soon where danger lies with a hungry eye and no mercy.

So back to me and mine. I got myself an ugly, bald, helpless altricial baby bird. It’s a blue and gold macaw whose beak is far too big for is head, its head is far too big for its body and it has enough spare skin to make a pair of moccasins. Its bottom beak is like a bucket into which I pour a few spoonfuls of special baby formula every few hours, and its crop when full makes him look like a big pink ugly squidgy bullfrog. He is nearly four weeks old now and the feathers are just starting to show through the skin, so the transformation from ugly duckling to a beautiful bird has begun.

It should be interesting watching him grow, training him and hopefully flying him without any mishaps.
Wish me luck, as I need to go now and mix up his formula and feed and change him!

Tommy Byrne

I hate rain. My birds hate rain, my kids hate rain and even my dogs hate rain. If there is a God wouldn’t you think he would have thought of a nicer way to water the Earth, or maybe Ireland is just the wrong place for me to live and practice falconry.

As soon as I put the birds out on the lawn in the morning the skies turned black and out of what was once blue came big fat raindrops that hit the ground so hard they splashed back up again. Everything was wet in seconds. The dogs ran for cover and so did I.

The falcons pulled their necks in and got ready for a soaking and very soon the Harris Hawks, which are not as waterproof as the falcons, looked like they had a good going over with the power-hose.

But I kept telling myself it was only a shower. You see it was only a shower, followed by another shower, and another, and another, with little respite in between, and this went on all day. As soon as the birds looked even half dry enough to put back in, the heavens would open up again and another deluge would pour to earth and everyone would again run for cover.

I fed all the birds outside, but on days like this they don’t seem to want much as they sit there, not wanting to move in case even more water gets in under their plumage.

I had little jobs to catch up on; I was using silicone sealer to block up some holes in my tow-box trailer that had let some water in, but as soon as I climbed the ladder and positioned myself, down would come the rain and soak everything, not even the silicone would stick in these conditions.

I got out my extension lead and circular saw to cut some timber for boxes I am making, but as soon as I had them ready and the wood marked for cutting, the skied opened up again.

Evening came and the rain seemed to ease off just a little, I made a dash for it and put all the birds back in their night quarters. They were still soaked but at least the temperature was in the teens and they would dry off soon enough.

It was a miserable day, the birds were glad to be put in out of it. The dogs hadn’t been seen since earlier and even the kids had given up and were gone inside to watch a dvd.

My wet clothes were stuck to me and water dribbled down my neck as I stood in the trailer looking out across black horizons.

I picked up a hawking magazine that was lying there and stared reading about falconry in South Africa and how they manage to fly their birds in such hot dry weather. I mentally put Africa as a potential place to move to if this weather doesn’t break soon, along with Asia, Australia, Spain and just about anywhere that uses the word blue to describe its skies.

I really did feel miserable and thought things could get no worse, and as I looked down at the magazine I held in my hands, a single droplet fell on the page. Now I did feel stupid and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, but it was not a tear that fell……

the fecking trailer had sprung another leak!

Roll on some good weather, please, please!

Tommy Byrne.

On this particular day I was glad to get them all out early as I had a busy enough day ahead of me doing other stuff, while making time to feed my birds and walk down the field to fly my Gyr falcon hybrid.

The food on this day was quail. It had been in the fridge for two days as I had miscalculated and took out too much in one go. The quail this day were the ex-layers; birds that had grown to full size and had past their prime egg-production stage and therefore not lay as many eggs as a younger bird. This type of quail carries more fat on its body than a normal six-week old or prime quail, but once these fat quail are not used too often they are perfect for feeding to hawks and falcons.

This is where I made the mistake; As the Gyr hybrid was the only bird I needed to fly that day, I got him flown early, fed him up with quail and gave all the others a full crop of quail too. I love my birds and I hate to see a hawk with too much of an appetite if there is no need for it.

And the sun continued to shine.

And I got done what I needed to do.

And come dark I put the hawks and falcons back into their night quarters.

The next day dawned bright and early again. I hate rain more than anything so I never complain when the sun shines down and temperature reaches the high twenties. I like it so much that at least once a year I spend too much time outdoors and my skin peels off me in lizard-like fashion.

All the birds were set out to weather again and all the baths were refilled with fresh cold water to ensure against over-heating, as obviously birds can’t sweat like we can, so will jump down off their perch and wash in the water to cool down.

While putting out the birds I noticed that a little falcon; a peregrine x merlin hybrid still had food in its crop from the day before. This should have set alarm bells ringing straight away, but as he seemed in good form I continued on and set a little reminder in my head to keep an eye on him.

A few hours passed and I was getting on with the day when I noticed that he did not look as perky as he should have. He then hopped down off his perch and took a drink of fresh water. It is not at all unusual to see falcons drinking, even though they get most of the moisture they need directly from their food. But this, added to the fact that he still had food in his crop was a bad sign, so I walked over to take him up on the glove and that’s when I noticed the smell. If I could have given myself a swift kick in the arse that is the moment I would have. I knew instantly what was wrong; he was suffering from what is known to falconers as sour-crop; the meat that was still in his crop had literally gone sour and I I put my face near him I could smell it.

I had a fair idea what to do; obviously the meat had to be removed and quickly. But by then some of it had passed down to its stomach and was already poisoning the bird. There are two ways to remove the offending meat; to push it back up the way it came or to surgically open the crop, which is just a bag, and physically remove it. But this then requires surgery and stitching back up when you know the crop is cleansed. This is a job for a vet, not your average cow and sheep country vet, but a specialised raptor vet, of which there are none in this country.

So I went with option one. As my daughter held the falcon wrapped in a towel, I proceeded to gently push the food back up and out its beak, as if it was vomiting.

I have smelled some bad smells in my time, from bad stomach-churning methane gas on a landfill site, month old exploding rotten goose eggs that exploded all over me, to the stench of a wild stoat that I caught with my hands emptying his musk gland in my direction (this might not sound bad but stoats are cousins of the infamous skunk and believe me this is not a smell that washes off easily). But a smell I will never forget for as long as I live was the stench of putrid meat coming out of that birds crop, to say it stank to high heaven doesn’t come close to a description.

As I massaged the warm rancid meat up and gently took it out with a tweezers, my stomach heaved and I dry retched, how I didn’t throw up all over the bird and my daughter I will never know. How my daughter didn’t vomit all over me will also remain a mystery. But we both felt so sorry for the bird and I felt guilty as hell that I had not noticed sooner that something was wrong.

After cleaning out what food was in there, I cropped-tubed a small amount of saline into the crop as my raptor veterinarian research said to do, and sat him back up on his indoor perch in the shade.

Two hours later the poor little guy was dead.

I reckon the quail I had fed, which was ex-layer and carried a high fat content was the reason. That and the few hours in the sunshine combined was a lethal mix. But the real culprit was me for not seeing that this could happen before it did. Fault lies squarely and firmly at my door as I was supposed to look after the little chap. I just hope it lodges in my memory for many years to come and hopefully divert any similar disaster in the future.

I have taken to feeding the birds later in the evening as the hot spell continues, so no bird has to sit out in the sun with food in its crop, and if I fly a bird early it goes into the shade for the rest of the day.

Some people say it is good to learn by your mistakes. But after making as many blunders as I have in my life, believe me when I say it is much better to learn from the mistakes of others.

Tommy Byrne.

I have kept dogs all my life and have never been without at least one. But never in all those years have I ever had a dog that was so easy to live with as my old Brittany. He was not the most handsome dog in the world, but when he was younger he found game for the hawks and falcons. If you have read my articles on my ten years with my female sparrow-hawk you might have noticed that he was a huge part of that hunting team. Very few of the adventures we had hawking pheasants with the sparrow-hawk would have been possible without him. My male and female Harris hawks would not have put so many rabbits in the pot if it wasn’t for the four-legged one.

But time moves steadily on. I have a young Brittany bitch now that I bred. She is full of beans and mischief and my hopes for our future is that she turns out to be half as useful as the old dog was.

Tom.