In the small town of Le Grand, California lived a boy and his falcon. Timmy was just 16 years old and could finally drive on his own and drive he did . . . all those country roads he loved so much, hunting and flying his falcon. Being in the countryside, air as clean as the fresh wet grass and teeming with wild things that lived in every square inch of it, all he had to do was look
WING OVER WENDOVER
By ERIC STEPHEN BOCKSAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 Eric Stephen Bocks
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4685-6179-1Chapter One
"Because I am a noble bird, the quarry that I desire to catch must be fast on the wing ... like me!"
"I APOLOGIZE FOR BEING SO rude, let me introduce myself. My name is Wing over Wendover and I am a Peregrine falcon. My story starts here in sunny California where I was hatched and lived with my parents, that is until I met my master Timmy." Wendover was indeed a Peregrine falcon and peered out from a window of his little ten-by-ten room made of slats and stain. This room was called a mews. Wendover was talking to a little Pack rat who had not moved a muscle. In fact the little rat was paralyzed with fear to have found himself in the company of the strangest bird of prey he had ever met.
Wendover continued, "Timmy is a master falconer. He feeds me and lets me fly as high as I want and we hunt and...." It was then Wendover noticed something strange about the poor little Pack rat; the furry little creature was holding what looked to be a small shiny object, he was shivering and shaking, and his eyes were fixed on Wendover and bulged unnaturally out of his small rectangular head.
"Hey little feller, are you okay?" said Wendover.
The poor little rat cocked his head to one side and then the other and spoke slowly with more stutter and less squeak. "Say l-l- listen here. Are ... you going to eat me?"
Wendover started to laugh and flapped his wings very hard and with a jump and a glide flew from his perch down within inches of the fearful rat's tiny face. "Say, silly," said Wendover, "I thought I told you, I'm a Peregrine falcon and Peregrine falcons don't eat rats."
For a moment the little rat thought that this might be a cruel game and at any moment he would be lunch. He tried again to muster the courage to talk to the falcon. He closed his eyes, concentrated very hard, then with a burst of energy blurted out, "Why not?"
"Because I am a noble bird," said the Falcon." The quarry I desire to catch must be fast on the wing like me." With that, Wendover put a primary wing feather over his heart and recited, "My code of conduct is to only fly at those birds whom I can catch in a fair ariel contest." He added, "There have been a lot books written about me too, the speed of the chase, and all the excitement. It's all very fun being me."
"Wow!" said the rat, fidgeting with his silver prize. "So let me get this straight ... you ... are ... NOT going to eat me?"
Wendover locked his wings as if at attention and said, "No!" Seeing that this was his chance at an escape, the rat quickly scurried along the wall of the mews to the hole in which he had entered. Then, looking over his shoulder hollered back to the falcon, "In that case, adios Wendover ... adios!"
"But wait!" Wendover said, "What's your name?"
The rat stopped and slowly stretched his little head through the tiny knothole of freedom and posed. "My name is Diego Maximilian Jones. I am from a long line of infamous thieves and I am the keeper of the treasure of my ancestors. But right now I am very hungry so I must go. Goodbye." Timmy opened the door just in time to see the Pack rat disappear into the hole in the wall with what looked to be one of his newly purchased swivels.
Wendover heard Diego's words echo as he made his mock escape, "See you soon my friend." Timmy moved towards Wendover and held up his gloved fist and whistled. Wendover flew to the boy's fist with one hop. "How are ya' boy, wanna fly?"
Wendover looked at his master as if to say, "Noble falcon at your service," and the two moved outside to Timmy's truck. Timmy called it the "Hawking limo." The old white `65 Chevy was his Dad's before his and purred like a kitten. It sported an old camper shell that was sturdy but had seen better days. The bed of the truck was set up for hunting with falcons. Timmy hooded Wendover.
Timmy carefully put the Falcon on his perch in the back of the truck and Wendover roused, getting comfortable for the upcoming ride out to the hunting fields.
The next sound Wendover heard was the engine starting up and the radio playing its faint guitar riffs of classic rock, ["welcome to the Hotel California"]. He felt the gravel driveway next and the bump of that familiar old pot hole Timmy hit fifty percent of the time heading out the drive. It was a quick right and another left and a long smooth ride until they stopped at the hunting grounds. Timmy got out to open the gate at the landowner's property. It wasn't going to be long now, Wendover thought, soon he would be soaring into the heavens with Timmy down on the ground the size of an ant and Roxy, Timmy's Labrador Retriever flushing larks and sparrows and ducks and oh, just about anything that had wings to fly. His life was good, he thought. It was exciting, dangerous, and full of possibilities. He was getting hungry now, passionate to fly, to catch, and to kill. For this was his way, thousands of years of evolution ... and God's creation, had seen to him.
The truck stopped and the side window of the camper shell creaked open and Wendover felt Timmy's soft worn leather glove folding underneath his sharp talons and the soft pads of his feet. The telemetry's receiver was turned on and that familiar "beep beep beep" assured both falconandfalconerthataveryspeciallifelinewasindeedinfulloperating order. Radio telemetry was Timmy's only hope of getting Wendover back should something happen to separate the falcon from his master. The telemetry worked with a radio signal that helped Timmy find his lost bird. The closer he got to Wendover the louder the receiver would beep. He could track him for miles should an eagle decide to try to turn the little hunter into the hunted and make him an early lunch.
Wendover felt his heart beating faster as Timmy walked into the field. The breeze was slight and moved through his nostrils like freedom itself. Timmy stopped to unhood the bird. Wendover looked keenly at all that lay before him, marshes, hills, the sky—oh, that beautiful sky. Wendover puffed up, roused, and with all his might, jumped off Timmy's fist and started to power up into the blue. "Now this is what I'm talking about," Wendover exclaimed and he flew up higher and higher. When he finally looked down, he saw Timmy as small as a bug. He watched Roxy as she coursed through the marsh toward the pond and sure enough there were three ducks paddling to the center of the small spit. This was the moment he was made for, but he needed to pay attention, ducks were smart and they preferred not to be dinner for anyone. In having conversations with frogs, Wendover learned ducks liked to eat worms and frogs; they were even known to swallow them whole.
Wendover kept a close eye on Timmy and Roxy. They were the ground forces and they would scare the ducks off the pond. They were now closing in on the ducks. Timmy yelled to Roxy, "Go, girl!" Then he yelled to Wendover "Ho, Ho, Ho*!!! Wingover Wendover!" The ducks exploded off the water. It was his time for action and Wendover knew just what to do. He folded his wings into a tight V and dropped with a speed that would make a fighter jet shutter, stooped towards the mallard's shoulder blades, then folded his feet into knuckles of steel and hit the duck with a "smack"! The bird fell out of the sky.
Now could be the tricky part, Wendover thought while looking through his eyes which were forty times better than a human's. He scoured the horizon checking for danger ... lions of the sky. Wendover was small and fast but Golden eagles and Redtail hawks were powerful and relentless, and they would just as soon rob him and maybe even kill him for the meal he just brought to bear. As fast as Wendover had taken out that duck, he could be "take-out" for some other predator. But, thankfully, today, he did not see any danger. With Timmy and Roxy by his side, he knew he would be safe. He fluttered down to his meal and slowly started plucking out the feathers. Roxy and Timmy soon joined him. Timmy was out of breath and Roxy sniff ed the dead bird with a sense of achievement. "Way to smack'm boy! That was amazing!" Wendover did not acknowledge the compliment instead kept plucking the old green head.
Finally, it was time to go and Timmy offered Wendover a nice leg of duck plucked and cleaned, and he gladly hopped up to his fist to eat the morsel. The team of hunters left the field towards the truck. None of them could see the eagle soaring thousands of feet above them and none of them knew just how much this particular eagle had it out for Wendover.
Chapter Two
"I will swoop in and make dinner of the duck and dessert of the falcon."
AS SOON AS WENDOVER and the hunting team entered the field, the eagle had been an observer. At four thousand feet in the air he was too high in the sky to be seen. He watched the whole drama of the flight unfold. He studied the scene carefully and, taking notes in his head, watched as Timmy got out of the truck, then saw him release the Falcon, and finally witnessed the kill. "That is my kill," he said to himself. After all he had tried for hours that morning to force those obstinate ducks to fly off the pond, swooping down again and again, but they would not budge. He was very hungry. It had been three days since a good kill and he was getting short tempered. Watching this whole scene set his resolve. "I will wait and watch and let the falcon do his work, then when the time is right I will swoop in and make dinner of the duck and dessert of the falcon."
But as luck would have it, this day was destined for a happier ending for the falcon. Timmy and Roxy, the boy and his dog protected the small falcon and made it impossible for the eagle to carry out his plan. He hated humans almost as much as he hated dogs, and was starting to become annoyed at this team of hunters that so often were successful in his realm.
He brooded and soon floated off into other parts of the sky, surveying the hills and pastures. From that height, his view was like Google Earth. It looked like a checkerboard of fences and creeks and ponds. After a short while he looked down to where he saw a Redtail hawk dive into a clump of grass and dirt. The bird had caught a rabbit and it was dragging its prey deep into the thicket. With great stealth and precision the eagle banked into the breeze and stooped his powerful body down towards the kill. He dropped down to the ground like a bullet, and when he reached the bramble he flared wings and with his large talons bushwhacked the unsuspecting bird of prey as she protected her prize. "Say there, life is short and I am hungry, you are pardoned to leave this kill and live another day, or, if you wish to be stubborn ... I will include you as part my dinner, it matters not to me."
The Redtail mantled over her trophy. "You should know, large one, that even though my talons are not as massive or my grip as strong as yours, they will cut you just the same."
The Eagle postured. "Ah Ria, pretty Ria, you are so willful ... pray tell, how many times have you played this game of chance with me? But today I am in no mood to bargain ... I have been hungry too long, do not test my resolve."
Ria gripped hard on the rabbit's lifeless body. She felt its warmth and then her own pangs of hunger, they were so much a part of her now that they clouded her judgment. "No, I shall not give you this kill!"
As fast as a snake could strike, the eagle ripped through the brush, stretching his massive body and spreading his wings, grabbing and tearing at anything he could catch in his large talons. Ria was caught off guard by the sheer speed of the attack and did not move quickly enough and one of the eagle's talons found the inside flesh of her right wing, shredding the skin and breaking feathers. With one more jerk, the eagle pilfered the rabbit and took yet another swipe at Ria. She managed to evade the thrust and flew straight at the eagle's head, a maneuver Ria could not quite gather up the courage to think about later. The eagle was shocked at her bravado and fell end over end breaking two tail feathers and letting go of the rabbit. Ria flew away as hard as she had ever flown. She never even looked back to see if she was being chased.
After his fall the eagle went back to claim his prize only to find he'd dropped it deep down a large badger hole. But when the eagle started down the hole to retrieve his lost booty, the mother badger came out of her hole like an army brigade, snorting and scratching her long claws with dirt and mud flying everywhere. "Get out, get out!!!"
The surprised eagle detoured by yet another onslaught decided enough was enough and flew off to sit in an old oak tree and compose his lost pride and renew his anger at Ria who he now declared had crossed him for the last time.
Meanwhile Ria was still flying away from the scene but started to feel weak. Then, when she began to feel the pain of the rip in her side, she decided to fly down to a fence post where she realized for the first time that she had been injured. Hungry and bleeding and with night coming, Ria thought to herself she would surely be in danger from owls or coyotes or that terrible eagle. However, she tried to stop herself from worrying, and, folding her wings tightly against the weather, closed her eyes to rest. The cold night arrived with its fog and wet. She felt her hunger subside into numbness and recalled her foolish pride. Soon the pain seemed to melt into the night's chill and she tried to sleep, even if only in short cat naps and with little nightmares.
The night finally gave way to the morning and the sun slowly tried to burn through the thick fog. In the misty air she could see faint lights of cars driving down the road into town. She was now very hungry and felt the sting of her injury. She tried hard to concentrate. It was then that fate took a turn in her favor. As she eyed a mouse scampering its way down the fence line, she knew she had only one chance at this hunt or she would surely die. As the hungry mammal grew closer to her, it explored every soda can and candy wrapper looking for a morsel of food, and Ria became intensely focused and waited for the soon-to-be-snack to come within striking distance. She sat motionless like a statue. On the road a short-tempered driver honked his horn. The ball of fur looked in the direction of the blast and Ria pounced, bringing all her instinct for the kill to a sure-footed "snatch" and the mouse was hers. "Hungry!" was her cry as she swallowed the mouse without hesitation.
But now Ria found herself in a worse situation, her side was bleeding and she could not move without great pain. She could not muster the strength to fly back up to the fence post. Another blast from a car and she realized that she was in the traffic. Cars and trucks were swerving to miss her. Ria tried again to fly but she had no strength. It was then that Timmy stopped the truck, halting traffic, and horns started to blaze. He was on his way to work at Old Man Lester's hardware store. The part time job supplied him with a little cash for his falconry ... gas and tires.
Timmy took one look at the distressed hawk and rushed out to her. He bent down close to the bird. Ria half-flew and half-hopped in the direction of the open pasture and tried to push her way through the barbed-wire fence. Unfortunately for her she got hung up on the lowest rung of the wire. "Well this is a fine mess you've made old girl," Timmy said.
"Yeah, and just try to touch me and see what happens, human!" thought Ria, but Timmy quickly placed a spare hood over the Redtail's head, careful not to rush or alarm the frightened bird, and for Ria all the lights went out. She felt herself being lifted up by her feet and then something soft under her back. Slowly and gently, Timmy carried her back to the truck and with one hand guided the truck to side of the road where traffic continued its rush hour pace. Timmy lifted her right wing ever so slightly and looked at the wound. "You have a pretty nasty gash here girl, looks like you got grabbed by something a lot bigger than you, this looks like an eagle's handy work." Timmy then took her and wrapped her in an old sweatshirt he used for casting* birds of prey. Ria lay on Timmy's lap and the two continued the drive to the hardware store by way of the local veterinarian. The last thing Ria remembered was the hood being removed then a great flood of light and small little rubber mask being placed over her head. The sun disappeared once again.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from WING OVER WENDOVERby ERIC STEPHEN BOCKS Copyright © 2012 by Eric Stephen Bocks. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
