When I first started working with owls, I was surprised that they reminded me more of a prey species than a ferocious predator. They still possess lethal talons and will eagerly make a quick meal out of a rat, but they respond to people more like a deer or rabbit would.
Prey animals are constantly vigilant for danger. Many of them are specialized with large ears to listen for predators. Eyes on the sides of their head maximize their field of view as they scan for any movement. Humans, with our forward-facing eyes, are often perceived as threatening predators.
When I volunteered with hoofstock animals, including endangered Eld's Deer and Przewalski's Horses, at a zoo in Virginia, I quickly learned to use my body language to appear less threatening. My mentor demonstrated her method by approaching the deer herd slowly, turning her shoulders away, averting her eyes, and speaking in soft tones. It also required sharp observation skills to read the deer's body language and respond when their body tensed or ears twitched.
It took some time for me to learn this way of being conscious of every movement. When I first started, the Eld's Deer herd would flee across yard when I made a small step toward them. But a few months later, I was able to deliver a flake of hay while they relaxed in their bedding area.
Years later I landed a part-time job as a keeper at a small zoo in Minnesota. There I had the chance to work with carnivores like wolves and bobcats. While cleaning the wolf exhibit, my body language needed to take a more dominant approach. I was conscious to not turn my back on this predator. If I did, the wolf might take an opportunity to sniff at my heels a little closer than I was comfortable with. I would simply turn to face the wolf directly and take a step toward her. My change in posture was just enough to tell her to back off a bit. (Since the wolves were hand-raised, they were not likely to pose any danger to us. But just in case, we always entered the wolf exhibit with two people.)
When my animal career brought me into the world of raptors, I expected to use this more dominant body language with the birds at the top of the food chain. There have been a few circumstances where I didn't risk turning my back on the predator with 2-inch talons, but I learned that most raptors require a softer approach.
In the initial stages of training with Otto, our new Great Horned Owl, feeding time can be a stressful occasion. I open the door and he hisses at me, telling me that he's not too happy with the intrusion. His body is tense, plumes on top of his head stick straight up, and he might wink one eye. These are all cues that he is uncomfortable or even afraid of me. I channel my experience with the Eld's deer as I turn sideways, avert my eyes, and move slowly into the mew in an unthreatening way.
While it takes much longer to deliver his food, going slowly at a pace that he is comfortable with helps build trust between us. I have already seen great improvement in his comfort level since he moved to Cable. Over the first few days, I left his food and Otto would take over an hour to come down to eat. This week, he has started diving on his dinner as I step out of the mew, a sign that he feels safe even when I'm right outside.
Someone once called me a bird whisperer. But it's not about whispering. It's all about listening and responding in a way that lets the animal know that they've been heard.
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