It’s not that I don’t see birds anymore. Aunt Bea got special approval from the Fish and Wildlife Department to let me train as her apprentice with a provisional license, so I’m over at her place three days a week to practice with Red. Aunt Bea trapped a passage goshawk around Thanksgiving, and she’s spending all her time trying to train him, so Red needs a little extra love. Plus, Red and I have a “thing” going after my week-long stretch as her hunting partner back in October. Seeing how truculent the goshawk has been, I asked Aunt Bea if she’d rather have kept training Rufus.
“No more owls,” she said.
Still, even mentioning his name made me miss him with an ache that cramped my insides. Every time I hear an owl hoot in the woods near the place Mom found for us—it’s an apartment in one of the houses near downtown Branford that butts up right against the woods around the old cemetery—I think it’s Rufus and run to the window. But it’s never him. Or if it is, he never stays for a chat.
That’s why I suggested to my mom getting passes to VINS. I saw on their website that they have a new great horned owl that they’re using for their raptor shows. A part of me hopes it’s Rufus, that he was found by some kindly naturalist and made safe in a cage. But the better part of me hopes it’s not. That part of me wishes that he’s soaring high over distant pine trees, the cold wind ruffling his feathers.
* * *
“Stop swooping into my current!” I screech at First, who is trying to fly in all the curls of wind at once.
“You’re such a hatchling, Second,” she chirps, diving at me, talons out, and at the last second peeling away.
I’ve come to see that heart-attack-inducing, death-threatening dives are First’s idea of playful fun. Over the past moon or so, I’ve come to find them more annoying than petrifying, which is a flap in the right direction. Maybe by spring, I’ll actually enjoy flying with her. For now, at least I don’t flinch with every pass.
On a positive note, this mad play of hers has made me a more wary flier—I’m constantly scanning with ears and eyes for First, which means I’m also always on the watch for predators, which increases my chances of surviving this blasted winter.
We’re taking a chance, flapping in the nearly full day of morning. At least today is cloudy, so we’re not as exposed. Our last day-perch was in an evergreen, which got cut down by some cheery furless creatures, all decked out in sparkly clothing, warbling some horrid out-of-tune human song and sipping sticky-sweet steaming liquid from shiny containers clasped in their wing-toes. Truly, furless creatures are the most bizarre creatures in the forest. After we got kicked out of our tree, First and I decided to take advantage of the clouds and head over the mountain pass to see if things were quieter on the sunrise side.
So far, we’ve only found more furless creatures.
“I’m HUNGRY!” First screeches, swooping right over my ear tufts.
“Great Beak!” I chirp. “Fine, let’s find a perch down in those trees over there. There’s some open space between the human nests where there’s got to be a mouse or two.”
“For me!” First tweets, diving toward the trees.
“Not all!” I hoot, swerving midflap. “Not every mouse is for you!” Sometimes First needs reminding about these things.
* * *
It’s cold stepping out of the hot, cramped car and into the crisp December air. But I’m so excited, I barely feel the frost. Jamie and Jaxon, however, are instantly shivering.
“Maybe we should have saved this for springtime,” Jamie says, her words chopped into syllables by her shivering jaw.
“It’s forty degrees—practically spring weather! And there’s a new great horned owl,” I say, slapping my arm around her shoulders to share some of my warmth. “I have to know if it’s—”
“Rufus,” she says, snuggling into my side. “I know. But I’m just saying, they could have timed it a little better.”
“Here,” Jaxon’s mom says, handing us each little plastic pouches. “Open these and stick them in your boots and gloves.”
We do as instructed—Jaxon’s mom, being a nurse, has a very authoritative voice. The little pouches have smaller pouches inside that instantly start to warm up.
“You’re a lifesaver, Carolyn,” Mom says. They’ve become friends—Jaxon’s mom even helped my mom get a job at her clinic. Mom and Jaxon’s mom do this ridiculous special high-five thing. Grownups are so weird.
Then they both slap arms around all of us kids, and we walk into VINS like that, as a single snuggled-up group, ready to see my owl.
* * *
First catches a vole before I even make it to tree cover.
“You really need to pick up your speed on the downdrafts,” First hoots once she finishes swallowing the vole.
“I’m working on it,” I grumble, flapping to a better perch to watch the open space for a meal.
“Work harder.” First glides to perch beside me. “I expect you to still be hunting with me come the summer.”
“Then you should leave more prey around.”
She nips my ear tufts. “That doesn’t help you learn anything.”
And then she’s off, floating on an updraft and crashing down on yet another yummy morsel.
I adjust my feathers, calm my gizzard, and sight something in a pile of leaves. My ears pinpoint a heartbeat. I’m off the branch and gliding to the perfect dive point, and then I’m dropping like a pinecone from a branch, talons out, and BAM! It’s dinnertime!
I flap back to the branch with my prize and am midgulp when First lands beside me with not one but two mice in her talons.
“What can I hoot?” she says, gulping the first. “I have a talent.”
“For death,” I reply.
“We’re apex predators. It’s the only talent we need.”
“What about hooting? I feel I have a slight advantage there.” I gently preen my primaries.
First snorts. “Fantastic. You keep hooting over here. I’ll go catch my fourth niblet.”
“Not if I catch it first!” I am right on her tail.
* * *
It’s agony waiting for the raptor show to start. I mean, all these birds in the exhibits are amazing. I’ve never been face-to-beak with a real bald eagle before! And yet here I am, looking right into one’s eyes, and all I can think about is an hour from now, when I’ll be sitting in the outdoor amphitheater and the presenter will come out with my Rufus—or some other owl. I can’t get my hopes up.
“I think it wants to eat me,” Jamie says, cocking her head at the eagle.
“They don’t eat people,” Jaxon says, reading the information plaque.
“Yeah, but this one is giving me that look.”
“Lucky for you, he’s behind a fence,” I say, grabbing the links.
The eagle squawks and flaps his wings in response.
“See?” Jamie says, giving me a wide-eyed, eyebrows-up smirk.
“He’s just mad about my messing with his fence.”
“She,” Jaxon adds. “It’s a girl.”
Jamie turns back to the bird, gives her another once-over. “Maybe it’s good that she wants to eat me. I mean, she’s got to eat. When she goes back to the wild, I mean.”
I nod. “When she goes back to the wild.” I place my mitten on the railing.
* * *
I can barely fly, I’m so full of rodent.
“Get your tail up!” First screeches, swooping by and nipping my feathers.
“We must stop for a break so I can pellet,” I manage, diving before First can even give me an answer.
I turn for a clutch of trees—too close to one of the monster pathways and some human nests, but I can’t wait for a better perch.
“This is a bad perch,” First says, swooping next to me.
“Tell that to my gizzard.”
I land on a branch and try to settle before pelleting. It makes the whole process more pleasant.
First flaps down beside me. “We should just perch here for the re
st of the day. It’s getting too bright and I hear a lot of birds around here. Big birds.” She glances around like the branches are packed with hawks, eagles, and vultures.
I’m focused on my pellet, but once that’s up and out, my ears pick up distant screeching and squawking.
“There can’t be that many hawks,” I chirp, mostly to calm my own gizzard. “Not in one place.” Hawks are solitary hunters like owls, not flocking featherheads like crows.
“I’ll mark this area as our territory.” First puffs herself up and then hoots this weak, warbling Hoot-hoo-hoo-hoooooot!
It barely echoes around our little tussock of trees.
“Excuse me, sister,” I twitter, “but perhaps this might be my opportunity to render assistance to you.” I fluff my feathers, clack my beak to loosen my tongue, and then straighten up and give the hoot of my life:
HOOT-HOO-HOO-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!!!
It sounds and resounds from far and near, shivering through puddles and ponds so even the fish beneath the frozen rime know that this tussock of trees is great horned owl territory.
First’s tufts are straight up in shock. “Brother, I did not know you had such hoots in you.”
I’m fairly bursting with pride but try to act all calm and nonchalant. “Yes,” I chirp. “Well, now you do.”
Before she can add something snarky to her compliment, we hear an answering hoot: Hoot-hoo-hoo-HOOOOOT!
It’s Mother.
* * *
Finally, the show is starting. “Welcome, visitors!” the lady begins. On her fist is a red-tailed hawk. Red is a much more impressive specimen, but hey, not every bird can be the most amazing hawk ever.
The naturalist begins telling the audience how grateful she is for our being there and how our entrance fees go directly to supporting the rehabilitation of the birds we’ve seen at the facility and whom we’ll meet in the show.
I hardly register anything she says. My whole brain is waiting for the owl to be revealed. I’m practically vibrating with excitement.
When the hawk flies over the audience, my brain gets distracted enough to ooh and aah along with everyone else. Even though I’ve had birds of prey flying around me for months now, it’s still a thrill. It’s hard to be jaded about something that awesome.
And then it’s announced: “And here’s our newest arrival in the education wing, a great horned owl we’re calling Greta.”
It’s a girl.
A young guy walks out with this large great horned owl. One of her wings sags, but otherwise, she’s a perfect owl.
But she’s a she.
She’s not Rufus.
What was I expecting? That it would definitely be him and not any other great horned owl? That he’d see me in the audience and flap over for a hoot? How had I let my hopes float so high?
This owl was hit by a car, like so many of the other raptors here at VINS. I never realized that people and their things are the only real predators that birds like hawks, owls, and eagles have to contend with. That even something as simple as not tossing your apple core out the car window could save a bird’s life.
“A mouse will come to eat that apple core, and then a raptor will fly down to get the mouse, and then a car comes along and we have what happened to our friend Greta here,” the guy says, holding Greta up high so everyone can see her.
And then—it’s so weird and I know I’m crazy and already worked up but I swear it’s true—I hear Rufus hoot.
But I’m not crazy because Greta totally heard it too. Her ear tufts flip up off her head and then she hoots a quick reply.
The audience claps and burbles excitedly. The naturalist guy looks a little shocked. “Well, we don’t normally get a hoot during our shows, but hey! There it is!”
People clap and whisper. My eyes are glued on Greta, whose tufts are lifted even higher now. She bobs and twists her head, listening for an answering hoot.
* * *
“Mother!” I hoot, dropping off the branch and flapping blindly through the trees.
“Second!” First screeches, diving after me. “It’s bright out! And there are hawks and eagles around!”
But I can’t not go to her. I can’t not see for myself that it is her, that she’s really here. That she’s alive.
I hoot again. Her voice comes to me like a warm breeze. “Second!” she hoots. “Is it really you?”
I follow her voice, flapping down the river of air that leads toward her.
* * *
Even the presenters are befuddled by Greta’s excited hooting and flapping about. The guy can barely keep her on the glove. She keeps bating, trying to fly off. But I can tell that she will never fly again—or at least, not well. Her drooping wing can barely flap. But this is not stopping her from trying.
And then two shadows shoot out from behind the roofline of one of the rehabilitation buildings. One’s a big owl—a female. And the other—can I dare to even dream it?—oh gosh, I swear it looks like—
“Rufus!” I yell, jumping up.
The two owls swoop right overhead. The big one flaps up into a nearby tree, but the smaller one wheels around, back toward the amphitheater.
* * *
We clear the top of the human nest and there she is: Mother.
“You’re alive!” I screech as I fly over her.
Mother tries to fly toward me. “Second! You survived!” she chirps. But then she’s tufts down in a bat hang.
“What’s wrong with her?” First squawks, flying to a tree. “She’s hanging upside down.”
“I know all about this,” I hoot. “Remember what that other owl said? She’s an ambassador now. She’s got to have leg sparkles and tails to be around humans.”
“What insanity are you squawking?” First looks at me like I’m growing primaries out of my ear holes.
“She’s fine,” I translate for her.
“Then we should go. This perch is surrounded by hawks!”
“Just let me say goodbye.” I swoop back toward Mother. And then—and this is truly bizarre on the one wing but makes complete sense on the other—I see the Brown Frizz standing up in the crowd of furless creatures huddled around Mother.
Of course the humans would send some creature like the Brown Frizz to be their ambassador to the owls. And what a fine ambassador she will be.
I decide to give her a little hoot of recognition. And then I mute on her head. Just to let her know I care.
“Mother!” I hoot, swerving my wings and banking toward her. “I’m so proud that you are an ambassador for owls.”
“Second, I’m just happy to see you’re alive. And is that First you’re with?”
“She’s taken me under her wing.”
Mother’s tufts lower, questioning the truth of this.
“No, really,” I hoot. “Her antagonism is forcing me to be the owl you always wanted me to be.” I land on the head of this human who’s serving as a perch for Mother. He certainly won’t mind.
Mother’s eyes smile. “I only ever wanted you to be the owl you are, my love.”
The human I’m perched on begins twittering like maybe my talons are hurting him. “I believe I might have to be off soon.”
Mother bobs her head. “Give my love to First.”
“I will. Stay safe, Mother.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she hoots. “These furless creatures have turned out to be nicer than I’d ever have thought them to be.”
I glance over at the Brown Frizz, who looks like she’s becoming completely fluffed. “They certainly are,” I hoot. “Goodbye, Mother!”
I lift off the human perch’s head and swoop over to the Brown Frizz, who holds out her arm as always. I perch and give her a nip on the nostril tube. “I did it,” I hoot to her. “I am flying free just like you and old Gray Tail and Red always wanted.”
She burbles something in Furless Creature–ese. Her eyes are flecked with raindrops—how strange, this thing about furless creatures and leaking about the eyes.
“Don’t get yourself fluffed, Brown Frizz. I will fly free once more. I just wanted one final hoot.” I give her a bit of a nuzzle and she gives me some excellent rubbings between the tufts.
The other humans step back, like they think I might attack them.
Good.
But the Brown Frizz is all blubbery and drips from her nostrils. What a silly furless creature she is.
“Thank you for all you gave me,” I hoot, nipping her fingers, which are in some wonderfully fuzzy paws that, if I had more time, would have made for some excellent shredding, but things being what they are, well, we can’t do everything we want whenever we want to. “Goodbye, Brown Frizz! Be a good human!” I screech, flapping off her arm.
She waves her paws at me.
She will continue to be an excellent furless creature, especially to unfortunate owls. She certainly was the most excellent furless creature to me.
When I flap up into the tree, First is practically molting, she’s so worked up. “What in the name of all that hoots was that about?! Flying in front of humans?! Snuggling with humans?!”
I tilt my head. “I like humans. At least some humans.”
First scowls, tufts flat on her skull. “Inconceivable.” She flaps off, sticking low to the tree line.
I catch up to her. “How about you keep me from getting too comfortable with humans and I’ll keep you from getting too caught up in your wildness?”
Her tufts lift a smidgen. “We are hatchmates,” she hoots, eyes shining. “Who better to learn from?”
We glide on a current of warm air toward a thick forest of green in the mountains beyond.
* * *
One of the naturalists comes running over after Rufus has flown away. “I’m so sorry, miss! We’ve never—I’ve never—I mean, owls don’t normally come flapping out of the woods at us!” She’s practically shaking from . . . I’m not sure if it’s shock or fright or excitement or the fear that I might sue.
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