I just finished H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald. Sounds like one of the Kinsey Milhone mysteries but is nothing of the sort. It’s non-fiction by this woman who, in coping with the death of her father and their shared love of falconry, acquires a goshawk she names Mabel. Combines her processing her father’s death, falconry lore, the experience of bonding with a wild bird and hunting and meditations on death in nature, and the history of TH White, the author of those King Arthur books, who was also a flawed falconer like her. And, and, and. Brilliantly written, both technically (her adjectives are exquisite) and as a memoir. Her descriptions of the English countryside and fog and light and brush will redden your cheeks. And Mabel is a badass.
Strongly recommended.