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Raptor porn: The ridiculous proliferation of the red-tail call

Once my partner Kathe and I were hiking at Fossil Butte in Wyoming when we heard a red-tailed hawk. We peered, hands over foreheads, at the huge Western sky, as rabbitbrush and sage scuffled in the wind. Bits of dirt pelted our calves. It was perfect soaring weather, warm and windy, the hawk hunting for prey with eyes that can make out headlines a mile away. Kathe then told me about a romance novel she’d read in which the heroine would scream like a red-tailed hawk – which is very hard to do – in order to call in her helpful wild mustang named Lucifer.

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