This is the story of Clem, my wonderful friend the black vulture. Click on any of the following links to read the story or see some more GREAT pictures! |
CLEM! |
THE STORY: |
Clem is a Black Vulture. He came to CROW (Center for Rehabilitation Of Wildlife) almost three years ago. Not many people have an affinity for vultures like my best friend Mattie or myself. For this reason, we were called when Clem arrived at a State wildlife center. "Yes, we have a surrogate parent for turkey vultures...Yes, we'd love a baby turkey vulture!...Can you bring him here?...Yes, we can wait a week" A week passed, and no one showed up at our door with an infantile feathered scavenger. A month passed, and we received another phone call. "Oh, you still have him?...Yes, we are still interested...No, we have no facilities for picking up animals, I'm sorry...Yes, thank you" Two more months passed before we were surprised one day by a knock on the door and a lady with a large dog carrier. We opened it to reveal a BLACK vulture?? A bald black head emerged from the mass of yellow down (turkey vultures are white as chicks, by the way) and the animal raced towards Mattie and leaped into her lap. After escorting the kind courier back to her van, and thanking her for her delivery, we entered the house. Slowly, all Mattie's views on that wildlife center began to voice themselves vehemently. "They have a black vulture surrogate! What on earth were they thinking? Take an infant vulture and raise it without a surrogate! Surround it with people! Kiss it goodbye?!?!?" (which, we learned, they actually did) "He's irreversibly imprinted! He'll never be releasable! He's ...oh, isn't he cute?" We never complained again. __________________________________________________________________________ Clem grew up in the screened-in porch and learned to play tug-of-war with our shoelaces. His favorite prank was to sneak up behind someone and nip their ankles. Or, if they were sitting, their belt loops. He followed us around, untying our shoes and begging for little bits of food. He made low grunting noises while hopping from one foot to the other, and flapping his downy wings. Eventually, Clem's yellow tufts of fluff gave way to a deep, shiny brown plumage, almost black. He seemed awfully proud of his new feathers, and would constantly sit on his little stool in the sunbeam, rotating in slow circles, with his wings stretched out to their full 6½-foot span. He even glanced over his shoulder every now and then, to assure himself that he still had our full attention. As he grew older, Clem's playing got a bit rougher. His nips smarted a bit more, and "teenager complex" kicked in. No more mothering, no more hand feeding. Mattie eventually made the decision to introduce Clem to a new black vulture in the outdoor cages. We called his new pal "Company." The two birds bonded immediately. We were as surprised as can be, because imprinted animals can usually never relate to their biological kind ever again. Clem and Company shared a cage for several months, until the young visitor reached his full recovery, and it came time for his release. It is natural for a bird to launch itself out of captivity at the invitation of an open door. It is natural for a bird to soar in circles for fifteen minutes to experience the long-awaited sensation of wind beneath his wings again. It is not natural for a bird to return in an orderly fashion to the door of his cage, and wait patiently to be re-admitted. Company would not be convinced to leave. For four days, he perched over Clems cage, inconsolable at his separation from his old pal. It broke our hearts such that we had to open the door and let him back in. We knew, however, that Company was entitled to his freedom like any other vulture. He needed the ability to soar and scavenge; to bond, and reproduce; to migrate! And so it came that one day we all stood attentively around the cage as Mattie unlatched the door. It swung open, and out popped the ever-eager Company. And she didnt shut the door behind him. __________________________________________________________________________ We watched for a while, and, shortly, saw Clem's round, awkward body taking a few short, chickenlike struts out of the cage. He paused for a moment, cocked his head to one side in the traditional manner of a congenial black vulture, and suddenly broke into long, gangly bounds across the lawn. For those of us who loved Clem like a son (which includes everybody, since Clem's loveableness is contagious to all), the moment was a breathless one. We knew Clem was imprinted. We knew he couldn't join a kettle of vultures. He probably couldn't find food on his own. But we were faithful that he would return, with the knowledge that CROW was the safest place for him. After all, how far could Clem go? He had never flown before... Suddenly, Clem caught sight of his companion silhouetted against the clouds above. He resumed his lumbersome leaps and bounds through the grass, head bobbing violently up and down, wings flapping with fury. With each hop, he rose higher off the ground, until, with a great beating of feathers, his overfed, super-pampered body lifted and began to rise rhythmically above the drive. Clem could fly!! On joining Company, the pair began soaring in wide circles, floating for several minutes at one time, without a single flap of their wings. They spiraled upwards and upwards. The two bodies became indiscernible specks in the sky, tilting from side to side on pillows of warm air. Their aerial acrobatics were stunning. No child on his first walk could hope to compare to this first flight of Clems. He leaned so far to the side in flight that he became a vertical stretch of wings, circling downward, bigger and bigger, until I thought he would tip upside down, if he didnt barrel to the ground first. Then, in a split second, with only the slightest shift of a feather, he would be upright once more, receding into the sky. As the temperature began to drop, Clem and Company floated downward, where company alighted (as gracefully as a vulture can look while alighting) on the branch of a tree overhanging the deck. Clem narrowly missed the tree, crashing into the ground like a nuclear warhead. He rose again, dignity undamaged, from the flurry of feathers and feet. His second attempt was successful, though far from graceful. And Clem spent his first night in a tree. __________________________________________________________________________ Over the last few years, Clem and Company have remained in their own little territory around the house. They roost in the trees at night, and Clem always comes down for food throughout the day. Most recently, Company's visits have been much less frequent. Last spring, Company found a mate with a more vulturelike disposition. He showed up proudly one day, herding a fluffy new fledgeling across the yard. We congratulated him on his beautiful progeny, (who looked nostalgically similar to the downy bundle of Clem that we had welcomed into our home some years ago) and tossed him a little snack to bring back to his family. It was only a number of months ago that we ceased receiving visits from that dear friend. Clem nurtured his loneliness by becoming overly protective of Mattie and myself. He followed us about, while we fed him, doted on him, and babied him. When friends of mine would visit, Clem would appear out of nowhere, with a loud flapping of wings, and plunk his large body in front of them. If the appearance of a bird the size of an ottoman was not enough to startle the guest, Clem would sneak off, only to reappear at random moments at which he was in a convenient location to give them a hardy nip in the calf. A visitor once left the house to drive home, and, as he opened the door to his shiny black Jetta, I saw him shooing a reluctant Clem out of an open window in back. Today, Clem has a large gang of vultures that he spends leisure time with. Because of his imprintation, however, he is probably unable to establish a rank in the group's pecking order. For this reason, he is unable to find food on his own, and begins his daily visits home dancing an snorting in front of the glass door, henning for food like he did as a chick. We let him into the house after he has gorged his fill, and he hops around inside while we go about our daily chores. He still likes to play tug-of-war with an old fuzzy slipper, sits contentedly while we have juice or coffee, and snuggles when he feels like it. I don't think I'll ever meet another animal as amazing as Clem. __________________________________________________________________________ |
THE STORY OF CLEM |
