The Owl

Birds, and more specifically raptors, are very much a part of my home. As spring comes, our driveway is decorated with the white splatter paint from nesting hawks and owls. There will be more stories about that, I'm sure, but this is a different story. This story is about the dead owl on the side of the road.

A few days ago, the girls and I went on a walk with the grandparents. As we looped around the neighborhood and neared our house, the dog and I brought up the rear while the girls and mom lead the way. I couldn't hear their conversation, but when I spotted the owl, I pulled back around and knelt down looking at it. The dog, surprisingly, was 100 percent not interested, which is good but makes me wonder now (after having read about dead birds) if the owl may have been ill and the dog could sense or smell it.

Based on my observation, it's small figure and fluffy, downy feathers appeared fully intact. It would have made a nice specimen to take to the nature center. No damage. No blood. Natural beauty.

Color sheet from the nature center's lesson on owls

Apparently the 5 year old was a little unsettled about the whole affair. But this isn't the first dead bird she's seen. A few weeks ago, her teacher at the nature center shared a newly dead bird with the...

[my 10 minutes are up... a little shaky from the walk still and typing slowly today. Need water, but have more story to tell]

... class after the bird became disoriented and ran into the education building's door. They often see skeletons, fur and have a hands-on learning experience there. But, death is death. The kids are still learning to process death and I forget that my scientific curiosity is their confusion about the circle of life, their mortality and the mortality of those closest to them.

Still though, after the second day of seeing the owl, I started wondering how one would dispose of an owl. Dad suggested a bucket with a plastic bag. That reminded me about last summer's dead bird in our front yard and opossum in the back yard. We (and by we, I mean my husband) used a rake and shovel to move those. In this case, though, I actually did an online search on how to properly dispose of the bird.

I fancied myself disposing of the bird this time, but then I paused after reading that a dead raptor should be reported to local officials or wildlife resource officers. I left for my walk this morning equipped with confidence of my new internet knowledge and nothing. The owl was gone. The end.

*

Wish I would have taken a picture the first time. Or even the second time passing it. Was planning to take a picture today. Instead, I've been browsing birding pages. Based on the size the shape of the face, I'm calling it an Eastern Screech Owl.

RIP. My wish for you, wise one, is that you died of natural causes and not from poison.

Mr. Hall is calling me a nosy old hoot owl. Thanks, babe.