The Northern harrier lies still, eyeing its surroundings. It swivels its head watching for any opportunity to escape. The bird is only 26 or so days old but its survival instincts are as sharp as its talons.
Muscles tighten as it waits to attack. The bird’s leg lashes out and gleaming talons grasp flesh.
“That’s enough. Let go,” Jack Bettesworth said quietly as he measured the bird’s wing.
The bird releases Bettesworth’s index finger then tries to sink its beak into his hand.
Ash-colored down sloughs away from the harrier as Bettesworth measures and weighs the bird. The bird’s feathers are striking: Bands of black, cinnamon and cream that camouflage them in the nest. Tiny feathers frame the eyes with dark gray. Large, shiny eyes watch everything closely. The beak crooks sharply for tearing and shredding meat. Brilliant yellow legs, not much thicker than a pencil, end in slicing black talons.
The bird is surprisingly light. Most harriers don’t weigh much more than 500 grams — a bit more than 16 ounces — unless they’ve just eaten. But the bird is a fighter and Bettesworth was relieved to put it down.
