Word: gos
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Rage In a Mangold Eye. All that White knew about hawks to begin with, he had learned from three tracts on the subject and from an exchange of letters with two of the few remaining hawk-masters left in Europe. The bird was Gos, an untamed tiercel (male) of the largest European species of the short-winged hawks, only three inches smaller than a golden eagle. The scene of their encounter was a clearing in a Buckinghamshire wood, where White lived alone in a cottage...
From that moment, it was hawk or man. When White gently lifted Gos back to fist, he bated again. All night long Gos bated and Whits lifted him back. How long would it go on? Until White's patience cracked, or he fell asleep-in which case, the hawk-masters had assured him, the hawk would know that he was the stronger, and would die rather than be tamed-or until the hawk himself fell asleep on the fist. White knew that hawks sometimes held out for as long as nine days...
Circuits of Exultation. For the next six weeks, White carried him tirelessly about house, barn and fields. He stood "smiling into space" while Gos tore at his ungloved hand and ripped his cheek. After days of inching progress, Gos accepted a 24-yd. creance (length of twine). White's next job was to teach Gos to fly to his shoulder. At first White cringed as Gos pounced, claws first. There was always the chance that the hawk would strike at his face. Five yards, two yards-soon White could stare at the hawk until he was only...
...determination and persistence of its snow is no new phenomenon for Cambridge. A few years ago a couple of Sno-Gos-those goose-necked tractors which effectively chew up snow and squirt it into trucks--briefly appeared in the Square, then disappeared without a trace. In their wake returned the good old snowplows, smearing the snow into well-glazed flat surfaces and impenetrable mounds...
There is only one good explanation for the disappearance of those Sno-Gos. That is the salutary and invigorating effect of the common snowplow on the activities of local policemen and their minions. At the first signs of snow the minions are out with their tow trucks. "Snow Removal," they mutter, as they yank your car off to their garage, looking nervously over their shoulders for the snout of the all-devouring plow looming up behind a drift. They might as well be looking for a Sno-Go. The tow trucks come and go, but still squatting in the rectangular...