Christine Peterson: Maggie bowed her head, covered by a leather hood. Her talons pulsed open and closed with hundreds of pounds of pressure on the perch in the back of Scott Simpson's truck. In her blindness, the golden eagle reached out to grab at the human voices. She was daring someone, anyone, to put a hand out, Scott said.
He spoke to her softly. "We're working on her manners."
She pushed his thumbnail with her talon as she climbed on his fist. Even through three layers of buffalo hide, the nail would turn purple. Scott removed Maggie's hood and she shook her golden head.
She doesn't like strangers. Sunglasses and camera lenses look like eyes of predators.
She raised the feathers on the bac…
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