What's in a name?

My daughter wanted to name him Shadow Fang but I turned that one down. I chose to call him the Baron (Baron Shadow Fang if you really want to I suppose). When I saw him sitting above the field 100 yards away yesterday, he looked so big and regal, like he owned the place. And after he came to the trap a couple of times he flew off to chase another kestrel away and that second kestrel was a good 100 yards away. That imperial behavior also added to the choice of the name. And of course you can throw in hints of the Red Baron and the Bloody Baron if you're a Harry Potter fan (my son's addition).

Today was Thanksgiving so that presented the opportunity to show the Baron off to family. Some were more interested than others and yet others were rather terrified. They prefer their birds dead on the table with cranberry sauce.

Since he hadn't eaten much yesterday I hoped that the Baron would chow down on kestrel chow pretty good today. He ate a little bit in the morning, a tiny bit in the afternoon, and horked down quite a bit in the evening. BUT. He will only take the food if I feed him like his mother would. If I present the food to him straight on from even an inch away, he may smack his mouth a little but won't lean forward to take it. But if I approach from above, he'll tip his head back, open his mouth, and grab the food and eat it. Tomorrow I'll be harder on him and require that he make an effort. That show of trust and willingness to interact with me is what will help him be tamed and trained. But for now I needed him to eat something as his weight was dropping too quickly for my comfort. Now he "knows" that he'll get a good meal from me so hopefully will anticipate it, and I'll make him work for it.

I kept him up til 11:30 tonight so he'd tame down a bit. While watching a movie with the lights down I was able to stroke his feet and belly, even as high as his crop without any reaction from him. But when the lights came on he went back to being a biter.

A funny thing about this bird. When I hood him he turns into a wet noodle. He lifts his feet up and his head flops over and he just falls off the glove. I finally did get him to sit on the perch and the glove hooded but he hangs his head down like he's scheduled for execution at dawn.You'd think that hood was made of lead. I'm guessing that'll improve with time as he gets used to it all.

Hang down your head, Tom Dooley.