Hoo's out there
I have been hearing the owls all winter. Now that it is Spring, their night calls are even louder. I don’t speak owl, so I can’t tell you exactly what they
are saying. But scientists who study such things
have dropped the clues that have led me to imagine.
These “owlogists” say that, in winter, the Great
Horned gals and guys start their mating rituals.
Instead of swiping on Tinder like humans, they
dance. Given that info, the hooting I hear in the winter is probably one of these:
“Hey, do you pose on this branch often?”
“You look amazing tonight in that downed dress.”
“Hoo, hoo, is your daddy?”
“Are those your real tufts?”
“Wanna come back to my nest* for an owl-nighter?”
An astute listener may then hear a screech, followed by a fast hooting lasting up to 7 seconds. It’s typically a life-time bond.
The majestic birds with those adorable, tufted ears
are very positive on the food stocked at Bird Haven,
a real michelin-starred menu here.
This season, our menu du nuit may include items
such as campagnol, lapin a la cocotte, cuisses de
grenouille, les souris du plat, et poisson du jour.
AKA voles, rabbit stew, frogs’ legs, mice, and fish.
The Great
Horned Box
For anyone wondering about my creative process, I watch nature, I am in awe, and want you to see what I see: That nature is wonderful, odd, curious, provocative. One spring evening, I saw a rather distinguished looking owl, a real dandy, as the Brits would say, swoop down for an amuse bouche. I liked his debonair look. His proud breast and geometrically mottled feathers. Forever that bird will be remembered. He now sits atop my lacquered box guarding whatever is dear to you or a pendant necklace
*Owls don’t nest. They are squatters. They take over abandoned nests. But that didn’t sound as romantic. “Wanna come to where I’m squatting for an owl- nighter?”
