It's an ultrafast killing machine with bleeding-edge aerodynamics. Not a pet.
By Stephan WilkinsonPosted 08.15.2002 at 12:08 pm 0 Comments
I built and for nine years flew an airplane called a Falco, which is Italian for hawk. But it wasn't until May that I flew a real hawk-a cold-eyed, scimitar-beaked, red-brown Harris's hawk that perched on my gloved left hand, flapped off into the Vermont air, dove at mice and voles like an F/A-18 with bin Laden in the crosshairs, and eventually returned softly to my hand. OK, it didn't return to my hand, it returned to the small cube of raw beef placed between my thumb and forefinger.