White Legs finally gave up the ghost. She died inside the critical care room, warm and dry during a cold, early Colorado sleet storm.
The first time I saw her, my son and I were new volunteers at the Rocky Mountain Raptor Program. We breathed in the soft-sour, almost-heated scent of pine from the tightly slatted cages and heard her guttural “hyo” squawk. We stepped up on the cinder block in front of her cage, eased back the wooden door, and peeked.
She took up more space than seemed possible for any bird. Golden eagles have wingspans that rival professional basketball players — 6 1/2 to 7 1/2feet. They stand 40 inches tall — with a slate gray beak and hazel eyes. The feathers at their napes and crowns are, inexplicably, golden.
She turned that big, golden head and looked right at us; the “wow” of her never left. Each time we watched her trainer walk outside with her immense body held on a thick leather-cloaked fist, or watched her eagle-eye a crowd at an educational program, we were left speechless.
She was hit by a semi her first year of life, and survived, full of spit and vinegar, but broken-winged and unable to fly strong. Even in captivity, her dignity shone.
The center is filled with birds like White Legs, and 75 percent will, eventually, be released into the wild. My son dragged me into volunteering, but I’ve remained, even after I discovered I had to learn how to gut a donated coot.
So, obviously, I support the Rocky Mountain Raptor Program. It’s good and necessary and, of late, misunderstood. It’s gotten some attention — always helpful for nonprofits — but a few details were inadvertently tweaked and came out wrong. Here’s the accurate information.
According to director Judy Scherpelz, the Rocky Mountain Raptor Program is trying to sell just a part of its valuable land, but not because the center is in dire straights or going broke, but to help raise funds to someday build a permanent center.
They want to make some bucks for the birds, for new mops, for more plastic dish drainers, for frozen mouse treats and for a permanent building. Right now the necropsy room is a broom closet.
Yes, donations for nonprofits are down. Yes, this affects the raptor program. And, yes, veterinary expenses have risen sharply, and it’s been a tough year for raptor injuries. Money is tight. But that’s all. The Rocky Mountain Raptor Program is a community-based organization that’s been in existence for 30 years. It isn’t going anywhere.
I like to think we are all kind and humane people who see significant need all around us daily. Then we take responsibility for one tiny part of what must be done.
Who protects redwood forests? Who raises money for skin-cancer research? Who cares for the caregivers of Alzheimer’s patients? Who helps a child deal with death? Who gets the sea lion out of traffic? You do, and I do. Thank God. It’s part of what makes us decent people.
The Rocky Mountain Raptor Center will continue to rescue raptors felled by illegal pistol practice, continue to untangle eagles and hawks hanging in barbed wire or electrical lines, or trapped in grain silos, warehouses or oil barrels. They will continue to pick up clutches of baby owls peeping on the ground beside their dead, tornado-blown mothers when the landowners, who’ve lost everything, call and plead, “Help us save these owls — come now.”
And if they can’t survive in the wild, a few, like the golden eagle who served regally until her death, will remain with the center as educational ambassadors.
They help us learn about the responsibility of being human, how it deems us privileged and powerful, and bound to all things we affect. The raptor program is good, and necessary, and could use your money. But, most of all, give it your thanks. If you call them, from anywhere in Colorado or the surrounding states, they will come to help.
E-mail Natalie Costanza-Chavez at grace-notes@comcast.net. More on the Rocky Mountain Raptor Program at or 970-484-7756.
