Free Mind of the Raven: Investigations and Adventures With Wolf-Birds by Bernd Heinrich Page B

flip-top can. A few sips was all he took, although on hot days he has been known to indulge in more than he should. He “gets a little unsteady on his legs and wings,” I was told.
    We decided to take a half-mile walk through the hills to a springfed pond to catch a few largemouth bass for supper. Just as we were ready to leave, Merlin became uncharacteristically loath to follow Duane. Whenever we started to walk, he refused to budge from the roof of a junked car parked under the large live oak by the trailers. He just sat tight, holding up our little expedition as we waited for him. Duane thought Merlin knew we wanted him to come. He told me, “Whenever you want him to do something, he becomes suspicious and doesn’t do it. You have to be surreptitious, by acting nonchalant, as if you don’t want him to do it, before he will do it.” To get him to come when he didn’t want to would be a challenge. Duane wasn’t eager to leave him alone, because last year while Merlin was flying near camp, a golden eagle swooped unseen out of the sky from behind and grabbed him in midair. Duane saved him by erupting in a sudden and violent burst of yelling that induced the eagle to drop his intended prey. When Merlin fluttered to the ground he had blood on his feathers and in his mouth.
    Duane again tried to coax Merlin onto his shoulder. This time, instead of merely flying away, Merlin growled his agitation calls at his “mate.” He was giving Duane a message that even I could read. It said, “Go away—I don’t want to go.” Duane and Merlin repeated the same maneuvers five minutes later with no different results. Finally, Duane suggested that we just go, and “when we’ve gone far enough, he’ll see we’re not trying to put something over on him, and then he might come because he wants to.” Merlin was never trained with rewards of food. He does what he wants, when he wants, and I suspect that Duane is the one who is trained, not Merlin.
    We walked about two hundred yards in the direction of the fishpond. No Merlin. We found shade and waited ten minutes. When Merlin still didn’t appear, Duane went back to do some “negotiating.” Sue, Charles, and I continued to wait for another five minutes. “Must be having negotiating troubles,” Charles remarked.
    A minute or so later, Merlin finally took to the air—not to ride on Duane’s shoulder, but to sail over him and fly to us instead, landing on the ground by Susan. When we got up to go farther, Merlin continued to be recalcitrant. He did not follow Duane, but again flew to Susan instead. Duane remarked that he was having some “marital problems” with his bird today. Sue as much as acknowledges that Duane is married to Merlin.
    The dusty trail we walked read like an open book of the previous days’ and nights’ activity. There were tracks of quail and lizards, scats of coyote and bobcat. There were stray feathers of owls and hawks. We flushed cottontail rabbits and jackrabbits from brush along the sides. Merlin paid them no visible attention. He seemed to be interested only in perching in a shady spot.
    We came to a white oak where a spring seeps to a trickle of water. The dense foliage above was atwitter with goldfinches and titmice. A succession of hummingbirds hummed down to the trickle to dart back and forth between sips. As many as six of them at a time perched on dry twigs five feet from me.
    Merlin stayed near this tree, and the others walked on ahead to the pond. They were soon out of sight. I stayed to observe Merlin watching the birds coming to drink at the spring. He dawdled, pecking bark and softly murmuring to himself in barely audible tones. I approached in order to hear him better. He then produced several renditions of the very loud and high-pitched crow calls. Duane said he often makes them when he is frustrated or upset. As Merlin crow-cawed, he allowed me to get right next to him, acting as if he didn’t even see me. When I held out my hand to