Shilo.

She flew straight up to me and took the offered meat from my hand. At first, I thought it was Larry, but when she backed away and peeked timidly at me from behind the veranda post, I took a closer look. The ruffled feathers and jagged beak, signs of a bird who has lived his life with abandon, were absent. This was Shilo, Larry's mate.

She spent some time looking around at the valley, from her safe perch atop the bird feeding table, and then she flew away on the current of the wind.