Far Sight

Far Sight

By
Jessica Shear



While living in Abidjan, Ivory Coast in West Africa, my family frequently supplied temporary shelter and care for wounded or abandoned animals.  Some creatures just crawled into our lives and stayed for a while, before moving on.  We had lizards, snakes, and rodents.  We even had a snail the size of a softball and named him Caesar - appropriate, we felt.  No matter what the species or how the animal came to be with our family, our intent was always to preserve life and provide the best environment for survival.

Far Sight was the most formidable animal in our family tree.  She was an African hawk eagle, had an eight-foot wingspan, and stood about three and a half feet tall.  Her plumage was brown, black, white, and gray and covered her haunches so thickly that people often commented that she appeared to be wearing pantaloons.

Born in captivity, Far Sight never knew the wild.  When my father was offered the bird by a family in a neighboring African country, he accepted gladly.  Her journey through the airport is drama I'll leave for another story, but suffice it to say, her addition to our family was the talk of the town for some time.

We had a yard of about two and a half acres, and an expansive cage was built around one of the largest trees on our property.  The garden itself was like a giant, tropical aviary.  Wild green parrots flew from tree to tree, while red and yellow finches decorated the branches of the flame trees, like strings of colored party lights.  Unfortunately, Far Sight was not able to take full advantage of our lush gardens, but we tried our best to make her comfortable.

A big, blue, plastic tub was added to her cage for bathing, as were a couple of sturdy attack and chew toys.  We provided Far Sight with a new home large enough to fly a bit and stretch her wings, even if she could not soar. 

Freshly slaughtered chickens served as her main staple, and she spent many hours watching the after school football and soccer matches that took place in our yard.  She seemed at peace, if not free.

We had our morning meals on the veranda, where we could spend time with Far Sight.  We'd speak to her and she'd respond by making eye contact with each of us in turn.  Deep black, like aggie marbles, her eyes would follow us intently.  Standing at the corner of the cage closest to our breakfast table, she’d sit with us until we'd finished eating.  Then, she'd fly back to her favorite branch.

Far Sight’s first rainy season with us was difficult.  She would stand at the far end of her cage and wait for us to come out to say good morning.  Our absence confused and upset her.  When the downpours let up enough and allowed us to pay our morning respects, she would turn her back to us, as if resentful.

Even though Far Sight had been raised in captivity, she was still a creature of the wild; a fact we often forgot, as we'd watch her bathe in her baby blue tub.  Members of my family often had to venture into her cage to clean out chicken remains and droppings, or to rinse out her bathtub.  On one such occasion, my mother lingered too long around Far Sight's recently laid out supper.  Feeling either threatened or having grown impatient at having to wait for her food, she swooped down off her perch and plunged her one-inch talons into my mother's shoulder – a reminder that just because an animal eats breakfast with you, doesn’t mean they want to share their own.  More importantly, it reminded us that just because an animal is in captivity, it doesn't mean it is tame.
For the next two years, Far Sight was a part of our family.  However, the day finally came when we had to return to the United States.  At that time, we were faced with the difficult question of what to do with our friend.  My father contacted the National Zoo in Washington, DC.  He'd heard they were building a new aviary and thought it would be a great twist of fate if we could find Far Sight a home there and have the opportunity of visiting her on weekends.  Unfortunately, at the last minute the people at the zoo changed their minds, and we had only one week to find a suitable alternative.

We had two options.  The first was to set Far Sight free where, never having had to fend for herself, she would almost certainly go after the easiest prey - a farmer's chickens.  We feared that she would either be killed by an angry farmer or would slowly starve to death.  Our second option was to donate her to the local zoo.  Before making the decision, my father interviewed the local zoo director, who spoke enthusiastically about his grand plans for the zoo.  He seemed to have a genuine interest in the care and well being of his charges and spoke of expansion and diversification.  He assured my father that a cage would be built that would enable Far Sight to have a certain amount of mobility, so my family agreed that that would be preferable to starving or being shot.  The deal was closed, and with great difficulty we said good-bye to our friend and moved back to the United States.

Several months later, my father returned to Abidjan on business.  His first priority was to visit Far Sight.  What he found, and later reported to my family, will haunt us forever.  Far Sight was imprisoned in a mesh cage, 12 feet high by eight feet wide.  She had no room to stretch her wings.  There was a feces covered branch upon which to sit out her days and nights, and a muddy bowl of water from which to drink.  Her feathers covered the floor of her cell, and parts of her once heavily plumbed haunches were bare to the bone.  My father could do nothing for Far Sight.  The zoo had a new director who refused to release the bird.

Although Far Sight's eyes were runny and diseased, my father said they met his.  For a moment, they seemed to focus, acknowledge his presence, and then they closed tight.  My father reached into her cage, got a handful of feathers, apologized through his own tear-filled eyes, and walked away.

In retrospect, we know we only have ourselves to blame. A natural death in the wild would have been less cruel than a slow, painful death in a man-made prison.  How confused she must have been.  How alone.  We should have set her free. 

Even the vase that holds Far Sight's prized feathers sits dusty and neglected in a corner of my parents' living room; an occasional reminder of the near-sightedness of being human.