Thank you for your lovely, peaceful writing, and for spreading your appreciation of animals. I've copied below an owl story I just received from my mother's dear friend Sunny in Wisconsin. It instantly made me think of Wild Life, and I got permission to share:
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So….a few summers ago, all the grandchildren were here playing all afternoon—riding scooters, playing croquet, playing in a blow up pool (small) etc. and three of them spent the night. In the morning, as I was making breakfast, and they were all out on the porch, one of them called to me, “Nonnie, something is caught in the soccer net in the lower yard. “
(Note to self: NEVER, EVER leave netting of any kind up overnight—badminton, soccer, hockey, whatever.) When I got to the bottom of the bluff I could see immediately that it was a very large great horned owl completely wrapped up, wings trapped, in the soccer netting. He was exhausted, and I was electrified. He had probably been flying down for a mouse or something, and flew into the netting, and got trapped. Then he struggled for hours, and so was unbelievably tied up.
I didn’t know anything about saving an owl like this—e.g. put a towel over his eyes so he’s not so scared—always wear heavy gloves as his claws could rip my hands and arms right open—etc. I just knew I had to act fast—told Rowan to go up to the house and get me my phone and some scissors. I figured if I couldn’t free him, we needed to call animal rescue to come and help. I called them anyway to tell them what was going on—but had to leave a message as I only reached an answering machine. Well, it WAS on a Sunday.
Anyway, I kept talking to the owl in my softest voice and gently began touching him a little so he wouldn’t be shocked when I began snipping at all the netting so I could free him. It was amazing—he looked right in my eyes the whole time, and never struggled even a little bit. Like the hawk, I’m sure he knew I was only there to help him. It seemed like I snipped for hours—but it was about 20 minutes, and I started with his feet. It was like he was in a netted cocoon. I had the kids stay a good 20 feet away, and they were totally quiet as I’d asked. When I reached the owl’s shoulders, there was just one piece left and I couldn’t tell if it was around his wing, or just resting there—and I hesitated because I would have to come SO close to his beak.
What happened next made me cry. He had been on his back this whole time—totally still. He suddenly flipped over and onto his feet. I was so worried that he was hurt and wouldn’t be able to fly. Then he turned his beautiful face towards me, the way they do, looked at me straight in the eyes for a long minute—lifted his wings and flew across the river to a tree. I’m telling you, we were beside ourselves. The children were whooping and shouting with happiness and delight—I was crying and unable to speak—I’ll never forget it. That’s the day he became my spirit animal. He is still around all the time, I’m convinced—as a few weeks after that, as we came out the front door, a huge owl lifted out of the tree right outside the house, and flew back to the river. And we hear him hooting most nights. Owls are territorial and as we know from Wesley the Owl, they also can connect to a human being.
Meanwhile, another time, I looked out and saw something odd moving along the grass in hopping movements, next to the river. I immediately thought ‘hurt owl’. I called Danielle as she is just like us, to see if she had a box big enough for the owl, as I knew I didn't. She arrived within minutes. By now I’d read all about how to help injured birds. Never put food or water near them, for instance, as it will bring other predators to them while they’re helpless. If the bird can’t fly, put it carefully into a large box and in the dark—like the garage—to give it time to rest and recover before letting it go. It turns out that none of that was needed, as this time, I think the owl had probably flown into a tree and hurt itself, but—as Danielle and I approached inch by inch, he moved to the stone bench next to the river, hopped up onto it—and after a few minutes flew up into the tree above it. Wild celebration and happiness ensued. :)
Hi, thanks for this, I really enjoyed it. And I am interested in the drawings, but I couldn't figure out how to reply, as you suggested. Other than here. Let me know if there's another way.
Hi, Debbie -- thank you! I'm sorry the drawings are gone now, but I have plans to make more owls. If you're on the newsletter list, then you'll see them there, or I can also let you know. My personal website is amyjeanporter.com for more information.
We had a mom and two fuzzy chicks roost in our yard this spring. The crows would yell at them all day, then the chicks would call out every few minutes all night while their mom was hunting. All inside the city limits of Indianapolis.
Thank you for your lovely, peaceful writing, and for spreading your appreciation of animals. I've copied below an owl story I just received from my mother's dear friend Sunny in Wisconsin. It instantly made me think of Wild Life, and I got permission to share:
---
So….a few summers ago, all the grandchildren were here playing all afternoon—riding scooters, playing croquet, playing in a blow up pool (small) etc. and three of them spent the night. In the morning, as I was making breakfast, and they were all out on the porch, one of them called to me, “Nonnie, something is caught in the soccer net in the lower yard. “
(Note to self: NEVER, EVER leave netting of any kind up overnight—badminton, soccer, hockey, whatever.) When I got to the bottom of the bluff I could see immediately that it was a very large great horned owl completely wrapped up, wings trapped, in the soccer netting. He was exhausted, and I was electrified. He had probably been flying down for a mouse or something, and flew into the netting, and got trapped. Then he struggled for hours, and so was unbelievably tied up.
I didn’t know anything about saving an owl like this—e.g. put a towel over his eyes so he’s not so scared—always wear heavy gloves as his claws could rip my hands and arms right open—etc. I just knew I had to act fast—told Rowan to go up to the house and get me my phone and some scissors. I figured if I couldn’t free him, we needed to call animal rescue to come and help. I called them anyway to tell them what was going on—but had to leave a message as I only reached an answering machine. Well, it WAS on a Sunday.
Anyway, I kept talking to the owl in my softest voice and gently began touching him a little so he wouldn’t be shocked when I began snipping at all the netting so I could free him. It was amazing—he looked right in my eyes the whole time, and never struggled even a little bit. Like the hawk, I’m sure he knew I was only there to help him. It seemed like I snipped for hours—but it was about 20 minutes, and I started with his feet. It was like he was in a netted cocoon. I had the kids stay a good 20 feet away, and they were totally quiet as I’d asked. When I reached the owl’s shoulders, there was just one piece left and I couldn’t tell if it was around his wing, or just resting there—and I hesitated because I would have to come SO close to his beak.
What happened next made me cry. He had been on his back this whole time—totally still. He suddenly flipped over and onto his feet. I was so worried that he was hurt and wouldn’t be able to fly. Then he turned his beautiful face towards me, the way they do, looked at me straight in the eyes for a long minute—lifted his wings and flew across the river to a tree. I’m telling you, we were beside ourselves. The children were whooping and shouting with happiness and delight—I was crying and unable to speak—I’ll never forget it. That’s the day he became my spirit animal. He is still around all the time, I’m convinced—as a few weeks after that, as we came out the front door, a huge owl lifted out of the tree right outside the house, and flew back to the river. And we hear him hooting most nights. Owls are territorial and as we know from Wesley the Owl, they also can connect to a human being.
Meanwhile, another time, I looked out and saw something odd moving along the grass in hopping movements, next to the river. I immediately thought ‘hurt owl’. I called Danielle as she is just like us, to see if she had a box big enough for the owl, as I knew I didn't. She arrived within minutes. By now I’d read all about how to help injured birds. Never put food or water near them, for instance, as it will bring other predators to them while they’re helpless. If the bird can’t fly, put it carefully into a large box and in the dark—like the garage—to give it time to rest and recover before letting it go. It turns out that none of that was needed, as this time, I think the owl had probably flown into a tree and hurt itself, but—as Danielle and I approached inch by inch, he moved to the stone bench next to the river, hopped up onto it—and after a few minutes flew up into the tree above it. Wild celebration and happiness ensued. :)
What a beautiful story!
Dear Jake and Sunny -- thank you so much for this amazing, beautiful story. Wild celebrations indeed, wow!!
Hi, thanks for this, I really enjoyed it. And I am interested in the drawings, but I couldn't figure out how to reply, as you suggested. Other than here. Let me know if there's another way.
Hi, Debbie -- thank you! I'm sorry the drawings are gone now, but I have plans to make more owls. If you're on the newsletter list, then you'll see them there, or I can also let you know. My personal website is amyjeanporter.com for more information.
From Tom in Indianapolis:
We had a mom and two fuzzy chicks roost in our yard this spring. The crows would yell at them all day, then the chicks would call out every few minutes all night while their mom was hunting. All inside the city limits of Indianapolis.