Bluegrass Buzzard
As I pulled into the driveway, I already could hear the hooting of owls and the screech of red-tailed hawks. The spring of 2019 had been hectic at Raptor Rehab of KY. That’s where I volunteer, treating sick and injured birds of prey, presenting educational programs, preparing food and such. 2018 had been a record year for us, taking in almost 400 birds.
I’d been busy most recently doing releases all over the state: five Red-tailed Hawks, eight Eastern Screech Owls, two Red-Shoulder Hawks, two Great Horned Owls, five Barred Owls, two Peregrine Falcons and one Sharp-shinned hawk. We always try to return successfully rehabilitated raptors back to where they were found. Most birds of prey mate for life and, hopefully, will be reunited with mates and continue to raise families. Being retired and with quite a bit of spare time on my hands, I was the most obvious one to release the vulture. Luckily, I had put new tires on my car.
There was only one bird left for the time being, TV-17–305. Oh yeah, I knew that bird well. The Turkey Vulture was the 305th bird we had taken in, in December of 2017 and I have the scars to prove how difficult he had been.
He, 17–305, had been hit by a car while eating roadkill and was unable to fly. During triage, our director discovered a broken humerus in its wing as well as a severe fracture in the right leg. I was holding the vulture during triage and x-ray sessions when I sustained the first of many injuries, a bite on the chest through my shirt, a foreshadowing of many more episodes of bloodshed sustained every time I handled him. Noting the amount of ‘fight’ in this bird, we decided to do everything in our power to save him.
During their stay in the hospital section of our facility, birds are kept in separate ‘pet carrier’ crates. Removing an aggressive hawk or owl from the crate for medication requires heavy leather gloves and ‘grabbing’ them by their incredibly powerful legs and feet equipped with sharp talons— their primary and most potent line of defense. In the case of a vulture however, the feet have long talons but don’t have much power, because they’re not designed for killing their dinner. What’s different in these birds is the large, hooked, razor sharp beak, which is their primary line of defense. Grabbing a vulture requires elbow length leather gloves. In reaching into the crate, one hand should grasp the neck close to the head while the other secures the feet. Even without the power of a hawk, its sharp talons can inflict some damage, usually while one is worrying about being eviscerated by the beak. It has evolved to easily rip into animal carcasses and powerful enough to slice through even heavy leather gloves.
Oh, and I should mention a very effective secondary defensive behavior particular to vultures — projectile vomiting. There’s not much in this world more foul and disgusting than vulture vomit. I mean, their food is already dead, decaying, and putrid when they eat it in the first place, but after fermenting in their digestive system for several hours . . . I’ll just say that the regurgitated material from a vulture will rival the most rancid and repellent substances known to man. I once had to burn a pair of shoes that had been soaked with vulture vomit, as they retained the bouquet of death and digestive decomposition even after repeated cleanings.
Turkey Vultures are large formidable birds, weighing in at over two kilos, with a six-foot wingspan and powerful, muscular upper bodies. While not technically a raptor, because they don’t hunt live prey, we treat them as such because they are carnivores and vitally important to the ecosystem. Growing up, I had always been fascinated with ‘buzzards’ because they were always present around our farm. They seemed lighter than air, soaring for hours high over the ground with only an occasional flap of the wings. My time at Raptor Rehab has led to a much greater appreciation and respect.
Vultures are very intelligent, curious birds that are exceptionally clean and yes, beautiful. They spend most of their downtime preening even if their feathers aren’t soiled. While they may appear black from a distance, the primary feathers are actually dark brown, mottled with iridescent bluish-light brown. Their red heads aren’t totally naked but have tiny, bristly feathers, which allow the blood collected during feeding to dry and quickly flake off.
Most birds of prey have a very weak-to-nonexistent sense of smell and depend on exceptional eyesight to find their prey. A Turkey Vulture, however, has a sense of smell that rivals a bloodhound and can detect a small dead animal from over a mile away. Their role in the ecosystem, cleaning up the dead animals, is not only aesthetically desirable; it is vital in preventing the spread of disease. The digestive system of a vulture is toxic, killing all manner of disease-causing bacteria and fungi, even viruses! The acids and chemicals in a vulture’s gut can even destroy the rabies virus present in a dead mammal, eliminating the spread to the environment while not contracting the disease itself.
For months, 17–305 had been kept in a crate receiving twice-daily doses of medication and fluids, injected with a large 60 cc syringe through a tube placed down the throat. In addition, after the leg cast and wing wraps were removed, he had daily physical therapy sessions on the wing and leg to prevent atrophy in the tendons and musculature.
Finally, after months in the crate, we were able to move the bird to a large flight cage with our two resident vultures, Io and Kachina. This allowed it the space and time to strengthen the muscles necessary for flight and gave us the ability to observe and evaluate its progress.
On the day of the vulture’s release, more than 14 months after we’d picked it up, Lauren, our young director, began preparing me for the reception I’d be getting. She told me about her interactions with the woman who found the bird, who had been calling twice weekly for updates on its progress.
“This woman is totally obsessed… I can’t ever get her off the phone and sometimes I can hardly understand her.” She explained that the woman had an odd accent from growing up in Africa. “I’m so glad that bird’s going home. The lady about had a fit when I called her about the release. Just wanted to let you know what’s in store for you when you get there!”
I thought it was nice that someone was so overly concerned about a vulture of all things. People generally think of vultures, especially turkey vultures, as ‘a face only a mother could love,’ weird looking birds not worthy of respect.
At any rate, it was a beautiful spring day. I rounded up the huge bird in the flight cage, put him in a crate for transport, and hit the road. TV 17–305 was finally going home. As I entered the address into my GPS, I noticed I’d be heading into some of the most gorgeous horse farm country on the planet—Versailles, Kentucky.
As I drove through Versailles, I came to the realization that I had entered an area of the ‘Landed Gentry,’ home to wealthy international horse breeders whose animals bring multi-million-dollar prices. I noticed, gazing at these thoroughbred farms, the fences alone were worth a fortune, but supposed they did fit with pastures of bluegrass resembling golf courses. This was not like the fences and pastures I’d grown up with. I passed one farm owned by an Arabian Sheik with a palatial house and hundreds of acres of dark green fields.
When I arrived at my destination, I saw a large sign: “Breeder of Fine Saddlebred Horses.” The farm looked like a picture postcard for the horse industry — rolling hills, pastures of bluegrass, dotted with gorgeous horses. The house was nice but a bit anticlimactic after some of the palaces I’d passed.
As I pulled into the driveway a small, blond woman came running from the house announcing: “Hi, I’m Ancie. Where is he? I want to see him. It has been fifteen months.”
I introduced myself and mentioned that we should wait for the bird to decompress after the long drive, and I pulled to the end of the driveway. I carried the large crate to a shaded picnic table on the flagstone patio behind the house where the excited Ancie finally got to look inside. She was utterly thrilled. “Oh my god, I can’t believe it. He’s beautiful!” Her husband came out as she was fixing drinks.
“I can’t place your accents. Where are you all from?” It was something I’d heard before, but where?
“Ancie is from Namibia and I’m South African,” said her husband.
Oh yeah, that peculiar mixture of Dutch/English/Afrikaans. Wow. Boer horse breeders! This is getting more interesting. I recalled the accent from the news coverage during the anti-apartheid movement.
As we sat in the shade of their patio talking, Ancie brought celebratory drinks. “This is fine bourbon but I have to drive home.” I told her. “Well, maybe just one!”
She also brought a box of pictures . . . photos of the actual egg that 17–305 hatched from, and pictures of his siblings! I was astounded. Before I could respond she was leading me into an old stone outbuilding resembling a large well-house behind their home, where she pointed to the exact spot he was born.
“When I first noticed the eggs there was a panel in the roof that had come off, so I knew how the mother had gotten in. I took pictures every few days when the adults were away. Then I got these!” She laid out a couple dozen photos documenting the bird’s birth from the first crack in the shell. The next series was of his first few days of life. He had two siblings hatched a couple days apart; she pointed to the exact eggs they had come from. “But he was always my favorite,” she said lovingly. She even had a video, from a distance, of the mother vulture regurgitating food for her new brood.
She knew about the danger of birds imprinting to humans so she deliberately kept away. She did take “a couple dead mice I found and dropped them in the doorway but mother ignored them.”
I was speechless but completely impressed. “You know, most folks around here think vultures are ugly. Is it the same in Namibia?”
“No, not at all.” She explained that in the south of Africa people just have a different way of looking at nature and that people respect the Old-World vultures, so common in their lives. They had been brought up to appreciate all they do for the environment. “Our neighbors here think we’re crazy for loving ‘those ornery looking birds.’ They make fun of us and say we should pay attention to hawks or eagles instead of ‘those ugly, nasty things.’ Her husband interjected that he even lets their mares foal out in the pasture instead of in a sterilized stall like all the thoroughbred people around them. “We think keeping it natural is healthier all around. And the vultures are always here to clean up the afterbirth. It keeps disease away.”
I was completely impressed. These folks were breeding show horses, not fancy thoroughbreds, and their ‘old world’ attitudes sometimes clashed with the ‘landed gentry’ of the Bluegrass Region. At least, Ancie told me, one of their neighbors had called to tell her “one of yer buzzards got hit by a car.”
The bourbon was nice but I declined a refill, as it was a long drive home. It was time! I gloved up and opened the crate to grab 17–305 for the last time. He took a last small chunk out of my upper arm.
Now, releasing a vulture is different than a hawk or an owl. With the other birds we just count down and pitch them into the air. It makes for good photographs, and people find it dramatic. But one doesn’t ‘pitch’ a vulture, because takeoff time is considerably longer due to weight and wingspan. If you pitch a vulture, it’ll hit the ground like a bag of sand. I set the bird down on the picnic table, explaining this wouldn’t be as dramatic as say, the release of a red-tailed hawk. They both had cameras out, clicking away. After checking out the surroundings and getting its bearings, the bird spread its wings as if stretching and walked warily around the table while checking out the landscape. The silver feathers on the underside of the wings were now visible. In wings this large, one can observe the curvature sketched by Da Vinci and defined by Bernoulli. The physics of flight makes perfect sense.
We sipped our drinks and watched quietly for another few minutes. Then at last, 17–305 took flight,—four fast, heavy beats of the wings to gain some altitude, followed by a slower paced five or six wing beats.
The bird never looked back as it gained altitude over the sloping, green pasture with its horses grazing below. At about 300 yards it caught a thermal and rose quickly, circling and soaring in the warm air currents until it was no more than a dark speck, then disappeared from view. This was as dramatic and beautiful as any release I’ve ever done.
I had become teary-eyed just watching, but when Ancie began bawling and hugging me I broke down completely, crying like a baby. We all had quite a moment, a moment of emotion, appreciation, reverence, and awe witnessing the beauty and grace of this bluegrass buzzard, flying free, finding its way back home.
Michael “Mick” Puckett spent his youth in the woods and along streams and rivers, in Fern Creek, KY. As an adult, Mick recorded albums for Kentucky musicians in his studio, Real to Reel Recording, as well as for NPR on-location music festivals. He taught middle school science, and biology at Indiana University Southeast. Now retired, Mick is a volunteer for Raptor Rehabilitation of Kentucky, where he treats and releases owls, hawks, falcons, eagles, and vultures. He is a featured writer in The Boom Project: Voices of a Generation anthology.
