|Fred on the right is sitting with Ginger, an adult female who was struck by a car's antenna and lost her right eye. When driving in the vicinity of hunting nighthawks, slow down!
Fred used to help me count raptors at Hawk Ridge, where I sometimes served as the August counter. When a raptor passed high overhead, he made a very soft "rit rit rit" call--sometimes the hawk was so high that for me it was visible only through my binoculars. When a raptor came low, he'd retreat into his carrier. When the danger had passed, he'd step to the edge, as he is here. Several minutes later he'd pop out again. This was a cold, brisk morning, though it was still August--that's what living on the shores of the world's largest air conditioner is all about. Fred seemed to prefer sunny, warm days.