Years ago, I found myself in a dark little room surrounded by dead birds.

Their bodies were positioned in faux revival, lurching through the air supported by mounts and wires,

perching atop rocks with the help of glue. They were stuffed and posed in ways that made it seem like they were frozen in time,

rather than lost to it.

Many of these species I had seen alive before, and looking at their taxidermied corpses, was uncanny.

It felt eerie, in the same way watching footage from the life of a dead celebrity does.

They're gone, and yet here they are.

One bird, more than the others, demanded my attention. Despite being long dead, their coloring remained vibrant, reddish brown back and chest, blue wings, blue head, black and white axe and marks and speckles,

just a fabulous bird. But I didn't notice them for their coloring. I noticed them for their size.

Now, I vaguely knew this species was a small bird, but the bird in front of me was so tiny,

I could have grabbed them with one hand.

Well under a foot long, they were maybe a little bigger than half the size of a pigeon.

Now, a bird that small isn't unusual, but this bird was clearly a carnivore. Their sharp-hooked beak made that obvious, and a predatory

bird this small was downright bizarre. All the other predatory birds in the room were massive

animals. Some had wingspans longer than I am tall. This one looks like a

beanie baby by comparison. Some of the other predatory birds in the room had talons so big they

could have literally grabbed me by my skull. This little bird would struggle to grab my finger. I remember I pointed

at those talents, turned to my ornithology professor, and asked, what could you kill with these?

Today we're going to answer that question. Today, we're going to talk about the smallest falcon in North America,

the American castral, Falcos Barbarious.

I'm Mackin. This is species.

Welcome to the show.

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