Joy, and bursts of adrenaline in those unpredictable moments

March 24

At 7:30 this morning, there was a strange black cat in the yard! Not familiar with cats, 8-month-old Charlie was exuberant to see it and chased it all the way along the back and then the side fence. Just when I thought he might catch the cat and regret it, it plunged straight through the wires between the fence rails and out, into my front side yard. Charlie probably could have gotten through if he'd really tried, but he stopped and I bent the wires back temporarily into place. I need to find a staple gun in the garage, or find one at Lowe's. What should I do if he ever does catch a cat?

In the night I’d taken Charlie out on leash around 1 a.m.. At 6 a.m., it was still dark when he insisted on going out again. Puppies are early birds. He immediately ran, off leash, to the back corner and started howling like crazy. And the owls started hooting again! I wasn't seeing anything with my phone flashlight and thought he was probably seeing a raccoon, but now I’m betting it was that darn cat. My former neighbor from Pakistan once told me that cats are bearers of blessings and good to have around.

Anyway, I'm glad Charlie didn't catch the cat. I was horrified that he got so close and I didn’t have a plan.

I’d heard and seen a big owl show at 7:30 last night. At 10:30 p.m., they were whooping it up again, and I also heard what I believe is the sweet call of a baby owl. It sounded like it was coming from the woods behind my yard, but it could have been in the hollow. I identified the calls of at least five owls from near and far. Hearing and seeing them reassured me that they were fine, at least for the night. Here’s a new recording of the adults:

You can hear the baby chick faintly, near the end of this one:

March 26

Both owls are perched in the pine tree this morning, grooming them­selves. The dad flew over the house and over my head from my front yard, paused in the cherry tree next to the hollow before flying to the entrance, leaned forward, and peered inside for a couple of minutes as though some­thing intriguing was in there: his mate? a two-headed chick? I couldn't see whether the dad dropped any food in for the chicks. Only one gets fed at a time, live prey that they'll swallow whole unless a parent tears it up. I was excited to watch the dad return, but he turned around, saw me, stayed another minute, and flew over to the berm, gliding with wings as straight as an airplane’s. When I took Charlie out a few minutes later, he was gliding back in again. And the larger female was also in the pine tree by then. How long had she been there? I feel sure there are chicks in that hollow now. Yay! the proud parents are basking in their accomplish­ment together.

I took a couple of photos, but the dad is hard to see, and I think they’ll stay there longer if they're not disturbed. I hope to have some happy news to share with the world once again. I still don't know much about any chicks that might emerge, but these signs make me confident that they’ve hatched.

On a walk with Charlie recently, it was eye-opening to take in all the huge trees that lace together to form the canopy of this whole neighborhood, and to see how many spots are available for the owls to rest or hide in.

Later in the Morning

Charlie had started running around outside playing when I realized both owls are in the pine tree together, so I called him in. They look like two blobs from here. I'm learning that wildlife photography ethics say not to disturb your subjects, but I’d really love a good camera shot. Do I dare go upstairs and open the door to get a couple of quick ones? I probably will in a few minutes. I don't consider that harassment from 30-40 feet away, and I sincerely hope they don't.

And how much do I disrupt my morning routine--write, meditate, do yoga, have breakfast? Last year at this time I’d started writing my memoir about the owls, so I went all in and took every opportunity to tell their story and get photos and videos of them.

I'm trying to be more relaxed this year, but here I am blogging about them, and I want to be accurate.

They stayed up there together for several hours. The workers next door were still banging their hammers and yelling. I took a few photos through my windows when I saw them leaning together to form the shape of a heart, facing out of the yard.

March 28

Just a minute ago, there was a hint of pink behind the lake trees, but it’s gone now. I may not always pay attention to what’s happening on the ground, but I always notice the light and the sky.

When I let Charlie out at 9:30 last night, he ran into the fairy garden behind the azaleas and started chasing something up onto the deck, and over by the fence. No barking, no fighting noises. It could have been that cat, a possum, or a dreaded raccoon. It was too late for squirrels to be out. After striding up the back steps onto the deck my­self, I stepped back inside and got my flashlight, but I was too late. I assumed that whatever it was had most likely climbed up and over the fence because Charlie was looking in that direction. I’m praying right now, in the spirit of the classic televangelists, for invisible angels to ward away any predators against our owls!

In 2022 and 2023, the owls came to the yard and the hollow for several weeks but didn’t have any chicks. If, as I mentioned in an earlier post, the average lifespan of a barred owl in the wild is eight years, and they’re ready to mate at two years, that only gives an average owl six or seven mating seasons, and the original owls had chicks here from 2017 to 2021, followed by the two-year gap without chicks. It’s sad to think of but quite possible that one or both owls were killed by the raccoon that ended up using the hollow in 2022. The Nestcam that year recorded what sounded like a terrible fight. I don’t know, though; all I know is that the raccoon had its own babies in the hollow that year, and it could have gotten there first, before any owl eggs were laid. But I also witnessed, on my Nestcam footage, an owl coming up out of the hollow and flying away just before the raccoon entered it, in the dark of night.

I saw no evidence of raccoons in 2023. Were the original owls still around then? There are several hollow trees in the nearby woods that they could have nested in. I have no way to track them, but I keep thinking of more explanations. Most of the time I think the owls that successfully had three chicks last year (2024) and the pair I’m seeing this year are not the same as the originals. They behave differently, spend less time in the yard, and are much more skittish, and these current owls are even more cautious than they were last year. If the owl my neighbors sent to wildlife rehab last summer is one of last year’s parents, it might not have come back. It’s even possible that the crows finally got one of them. Nature, red in tooth and claw.

I didn't see any owls all day yester­day, but I heard one hooting after I came upstairs to get ready for bed. I slept with the window open, which made the room perfectly cool, a delicious spring night, with my ceiling fan running.

March 30

Nature is toying with me, teasing me, reminding me to let things be. How else to deal with the disappearance, again, of the owls?

It rained most of the day yesterday. Today looks to be rainy again, and a lot more greenery has popped out. I haven't seen an owl near the tree in days. Last night one was hooting again, though. I hear them hooting about every other night.

March 31-April 2

My backyard is messy and muddy, green and brown. It stormed last night, with loud gusts of wind and thunder. The oaks had already shed their icky fronds every­where, long yellow squiggles like worms that Charlie loves to grab by the mouthful. I’ve been busy contributing to a rummage sale and writing, in addition to the daily necessities of seeing about my mom, myself, and Charlie. I worry about the owls, but at the same time I’m living my own life. It’s important to take care of myself and to avoid obsessive worry.

April 3

A storm rated 5 out of 5 for danger by the National Weather Service began last night. The New York Times predicted that Memphis would be the epicenter of the storm front. Tornadoes wiped out long swaths of towns in Arkansas and in a county north of here, with several human fatalities. It's supposed to rain for three more days and produce flooding. But Charlie and I got through the night safely, and we slept upstairs after the first and biggest storm subsided. He’s not afraid of rain or thunder.

I’m afraid the owls are gone. No chicks. I must have misinterpreted what the adults were doing a week ago. If something changes, it will be another happy surprise. I wonder where they are, maybe in the nearest woods, where I heard them last.

***

But then I went out into the breezeway while Charlie did his business. Still glum and yearning for my owls, I looked for them in the trees and the woods, and I had a sudden impulse to imitate that whistling call of the sweet little chicks, recorded above. To me, it sounds like “Pleeease?” starting low and lifting up high like a baby’s outstretched arms. I whistled it as best I could, two or three times, and brought Charlie inside.

I dried Charlie off with the bath towel he loves to bite and tug on, sat down in the Bird Room, and through the picture windows noticed something flapping over in the woods. I got out the binoculars to confirm what I saw. Wouldn’t you know it: there was our daddy owl. He flew from way back in the forest, up to a tree on the edge of the woods, directly across the berm and in front of me. After grooming himself, he moved to a different branch and then flew into my yard to the pine tree, landing on one of the owls’ favorite long branches, where the original owl used to sit most often, in the early years. He shook off some rain, like a dog, and relaxed. He’s still there now.

He must have come because he heard my call, so we will see what happens next.

***

I'm feeling guarded, grateful, and touched to see him but not wanting to expect too much. The only thing I've learned this morning is that I was able to summon him by replicating the call of a baby owl. An adult owl would never attack a chick, or at least I can’t imagine that. He might, however, attack an adult owl or a human if he thought he needed to, so I never try to imitate the adults.

I hope these owls don't drive me crazy. It's my yearly Lenten discipline (otherwise known as a yearly practice) of observing, letting things be, and finding those little joys and bursts of adrenaline in the unpredictable moments.

I decide to meditate with partially open eyes, which is probably not recommended when you’ve been watching an ongoing spectacle. It’s my meditation to remove anxiety and frustration, which I do every day.

After four minutes, I have to pause my timer. Out of the corner of my left eye I’ve noticed a squirrel going up my large sweet gum tree near the deck, and then I notice one running straight up the trunk of the hollow oak where the owls nest. The squirrel looks into the hollow, and the daddy owl immediately flies over to the nearest oak tree, the one that has branches that look like a tuning fork, to watch. The squirrel runs around the trunk and ends up on the bump above the hollow, stretching his body taut, lengthwise, and staring straight at the owl. The daddy owl stares straight back at him. It's a very interesting standoff. The owl could easily catch and eat that squirrel on the ground, but I’m guessing that it may be harder to catch one in a tree. Otherwise, why doesn’t he grab him? I watch the squirrel chatter at the owl. It's a small squirrel. It might be a baby and very naïve. The owl turns to look at me through my window as I take a short video with my phone, so I stop. Did he know to look my way, or was that a coincidence? The squirrel goes around and down the other side of the trunk; the owl swivels his head all the way around and looks completely behind him, then back at the hollow, and shakes his feathers off again like a dog before he turns around and flies back to the pine tree, where he is getting situated right now, flying from a lower limb up to a higher one a minute later. This is the paternal behavior I’m used to.

After he flies to the pine tree I start my meditation timer again, and near the end, he begins to hoot, a dozen times, for more than two minutes. The hoots can be mating calls, among other things. Is he wanting to try again?

Now I remember that before we went outside and before I imitated the chick, we were playing tug and Charlie was growling through his teeth, har har har har, which I think is funny because it sounds exactly like the prosperity chant I’ve used to try to summon the owls, sometimes successfully. I don’t know what har har har har means. It’s just a chant I learned on my yoga retreat. Was it Charlie’s chant or my scientific chick call that summoned the dad?

So now, here we were, Charlie, me, and the owl, all meditating together quietly for at least six minutes.

After our meditation, I take Charlie back out. I can't see if the owl is still there or not, but I hear the white-throated sparrow singing my favorite plaintive little song. And now it's time to do my yoga and give Charlie his beloved dental chew, aptly called a Whimzee.