The Harris's Hawk, the Falconer's Partner
The first thing to point out about harris's hawks is that they are beautiful. The harris's hawk is colored like a designer cat, painted entirely in rich, dark colors with a bright yellow beak. Driving along the Texas highways, you can immediately spot the bright yellow bills of harris's hawks, shining out from dark trees like stars.
I remember seeing a falconry demonstration as a child, which featured a nearly-black harris's hawk named Jay. While I'd seen a couple of shows with live birds of prey before, the birds often seemed diminished perched on a person's hand, not as strange or wild. Jay was perfectly sleek, alert and delicate. She moved gracefully up and down the glove. I was consumed with desire – I wanted a harris's hawk, not to train or dominate, just to look at and appreciate.
Before I talk more about hawks, I want to talk about pets. I sometimes think people have become too accustomed to dogs, have based the whole concept of having a pet around the idea that animals will be social and affectionate like man's best friend. I've owned rabbits, ducks, parakeets, guinea pigs and a variety of other small animals. While my pets did become familiar with me, and willing to do things like eat from my hands, they weren't physically affectionate or demonstrably loyal. I spent a lot of time trying to convince hamsters and rabbits to enjoy being cuddled and picked up, to no availe – in short, I had unfair expectations.
There's a swelling movement within the conservation and animal welfare communities to crack down on exotic pet ownership, which I largely support and agree with: no matter how much a tiger becomes accustomed to a person, tigers have the instincts of solitary hunters. They are never going to be dogs, no matter how much we pamper or train them – and, unlike a parakeet or a hamster, treating a tiger like a dog is a dangerous proposition. Trying to "tame" them often results in abuse of the animal, and the injury or death of the owner.
Yet I feel somewhat conflicted about the exotic pets issue, because part of me believes that humans should live with animals, that there is place in our lives not just for dogs and cats, but for creatures with minds that are much more alien. Wouldn't living with a strange animal (and trying to treat it well), expand our minds and increase our empathy? I bring this all up because harris's hawks are one of human's most successful animal partners, the favorite bird of falconers, and the posterboy for a very un-petlike type of human animal relationship.
Unlike most animal trainers, experienced falconers do not use systems of reward and punishment – what most people would consider essential elements of training an animal – because falcons and hawks do not understand it. This is not because harris's hawks are dumb or incapable of learning (they perform better than many mammals at spacial and logical tasks), but because the idea of reward and punishment never arises for a hawk in a natural setting. Wolves (and many other social animals, including birds like chickens) form groups led by alphas who met out rewards and punishments (for instance, better hunters eat first). Nothing similar exists in the world of hawks; punishment is never an expected part of a hawk's life. A punished hawk will see its owner as a natural force, like a storm or a hurricane, that is better avoided, and will almost always find a way to escape.
Since reward and punishment doesn't work for hawks, falconry is less like conventional training and more like cooperation: hawks love to fly, hunt, and kill, and falconers provide prey and the opportunities to hunt. Harris's hawks recognize this quickly. Out of thousands of species spread across the world, harris's hawks are the only naturally social raptors. They form leaderless and structureless "packs" that hunt cooperatively. Hawks in the packs take on different roles – half the pack will drive rabbits out of a bush, while the other half wait on the other side. Partnership comes naturally to them.
Harris's hawks' best asset may not be socialbility, but logic, the ability to notice what makes a hunt successful or unsuccessful. Hawks generally hate dogs, but a harris's hawk that observes a dog chase out prey will follow it around. Harris's hawks are quick to recognize another animal (or human) as an asset – and also quick to spurn a person who becomes a liability.
As transactional as that may seem, it's also a very pure idea of where relationships come from. People get into relationships because the other person's company is enjoyable, because they are good to each other. When you give a hawk the chance to fly and hunt (two things birds enjoy regardless of the reward of food), you are good to the hawk, and the hawk enjoys your company. A hawk would never be in an abusive relationship, out of a sense of duty or pride; it would simply leave. There's an appeal to that.
I remember seeing a falconry demonstration as a child, which featured a nearly-black harris's hawk named Jay. While I'd seen a couple of shows with live birds of prey before, the birds often seemed diminished perched on a person's hand, not as strange or wild. Jay was perfectly sleek, alert and delicate. She moved gracefully up and down the glove. I was consumed with desire – I wanted a harris's hawk, not to train or dominate, just to look at and appreciate.
Before I talk more about hawks, I want to talk about pets. I sometimes think people have become too accustomed to dogs, have based the whole concept of having a pet around the idea that animals will be social and affectionate like man's best friend. I've owned rabbits, ducks, parakeets, guinea pigs and a variety of other small animals. While my pets did become familiar with me, and willing to do things like eat from my hands, they weren't physically affectionate or demonstrably loyal. I spent a lot of time trying to convince hamsters and rabbits to enjoy being cuddled and picked up, to no availe – in short, I had unfair expectations.
There's a swelling movement within the conservation and animal welfare communities to crack down on exotic pet ownership, which I largely support and agree with: no matter how much a tiger becomes accustomed to a person, tigers have the instincts of solitary hunters. They are never going to be dogs, no matter how much we pamper or train them – and, unlike a parakeet or a hamster, treating a tiger like a dog is a dangerous proposition. Trying to "tame" them often results in abuse of the animal, and the injury or death of the owner.
Yet I feel somewhat conflicted about the exotic pets issue, because part of me believes that humans should live with animals, that there is place in our lives not just for dogs and cats, but for creatures with minds that are much more alien. Wouldn't living with a strange animal (and trying to treat it well), expand our minds and increase our empathy? I bring this all up because harris's hawks are one of human's most successful animal partners, the favorite bird of falconers, and the posterboy for a very un-petlike type of human animal relationship.
Unlike most animal trainers, experienced falconers do not use systems of reward and punishment – what most people would consider essential elements of training an animal – because falcons and hawks do not understand it. This is not because harris's hawks are dumb or incapable of learning (they perform better than many mammals at spacial and logical tasks), but because the idea of reward and punishment never arises for a hawk in a natural setting. Wolves (and many other social animals, including birds like chickens) form groups led by alphas who met out rewards and punishments (for instance, better hunters eat first). Nothing similar exists in the world of hawks; punishment is never an expected part of a hawk's life. A punished hawk will see its owner as a natural force, like a storm or a hurricane, that is better avoided, and will almost always find a way to escape.
Since reward and punishment doesn't work for hawks, falconry is less like conventional training and more like cooperation: hawks love to fly, hunt, and kill, and falconers provide prey and the opportunities to hunt. Harris's hawks recognize this quickly. Out of thousands of species spread across the world, harris's hawks are the only naturally social raptors. They form leaderless and structureless "packs" that hunt cooperatively. Hawks in the packs take on different roles – half the pack will drive rabbits out of a bush, while the other half wait on the other side. Partnership comes naturally to them.
Harris's hawks' best asset may not be socialbility, but logic, the ability to notice what makes a hunt successful or unsuccessful. Hawks generally hate dogs, but a harris's hawk that observes a dog chase out prey will follow it around. Harris's hawks are quick to recognize another animal (or human) as an asset – and also quick to spurn a person who becomes a liability.
As transactional as that may seem, it's also a very pure idea of where relationships come from. People get into relationships because the other person's company is enjoyable, because they are good to each other. When you give a hawk the chance to fly and hunt (two things birds enjoy regardless of the reward of food), you are good to the hawk, and the hawk enjoys your company. A hawk would never be in an abusive relationship, out of a sense of duty or pride; it would simply leave. There's an appeal to that.