Tall, Dark Strangers

It’s no wonder that vultures have never really taken off as domestic pets.  What with their Keith-Richards-as-Skinhead looks, and a tendency to vomit acrid gobs of spit at passers-by, most people opt for cats or hermit crabs.  But spend a season watching them get on with family life and it's easy to be won over.

We met during the pre-sale home inspection.  Prying open the barn door, we instantly found ourselves with a face full of black feathers.  On the ground were two perfectly formed L’eggs sized eggs in a rough scrape surrounded by a disturbing amount of snow-white guano.  Mom (Dad? Who knows, I’m unclear about their sexual dimorphism) didn’t stray far.  And we realized, like it or not, we had some long-term guests.

Sure enough, after 12 weeks, two bizarre Muppet-chickens were peeking out from under a very committed Mom/Dad.  Parental duties were shared and several times each day we witnessed a changing of the guard ceremony followed by some disgusting regurgitation.  Spring turned to Summer and the feather dusters began to grow feathers and enjoy more alone time in the stall.  Mom/Dad also started to chill and became inured to our intrusions.  Baby Black Vultures generally spend 12-14 weeks hanging around the nest before they fledge and nobody seemed in a hurry to abandon their spacious digs or face an uncertain future.

Sarah and Bill, as they called themselves, had very distinct personalities from the time they could stagger and stretch.  One enjoyed strutting around their fetid room while the other always hid under an adult.  Sarah, the bold one, picked a sweltering summer afternoon to emerge and explore the world, taking a few drinks from the tub of water someone accidentally left out for that purpose.  It wasn’t long before they were both parading in the yard and fouling the tractor.  By this point they were nearly indistinguishable from their parents.

One morning we came out to find all four sitting along the fence line -- a funereal barbershop quartet looking decidedly thuggish.  Every once in a while the parents would head off to work leaving Sarah to go through a series of gymkhana exercises while Bill stood firm.  These first clumsy attempts at flight made me appreciate why they were ground-nesters, as there was nothing elegant (or impressive) about their progress.  But progress they did.  First Sarah was in a tree, then Bill struggled onto the roof, and one morning we witnessed a Wright Brothers style glide across the paddock. There was no stopping them now.  It wasn’t long before we saw all four gliding hundreds of feet in the air looking for their next meal.

There’s no doubt that we were happy to be back in possession of the barn, but there was something bittersweet about their departure.  I found myself stopping to drag carrion off of the road so that local “wakes” (look it up) could eat in peace.  And although we’ve secured the barn for more people-related activities in the spring the occasional visitor, sitting silently on the peak of the roof, reminds me that we are just one open door away from once again becoming avian landlords.