merrymuhsman

The rain came down in gentle sheets, soft, but cold. It was an usually warm December. 40 degrees, and my kitten Zoey was missing. A coffee and cream-colored Siamese with a heart-shaped face and turquoise blue eyes.

Wearing my Carhartt jacket and muck boots, I shined the hand-held spotlight into the darkest corners of the trees and wet leaves as rain curtain fell down around me. Because Zoey was a kitten, I didn’t really know where she liked to go. Most of my cats had their territory mapped out, but Zoey was still finding her hunting grounds.

I shined the light on the ground, calling her name into the darkness. My heart thumped in my throat, and I tried to push down the panic. She had to be hiding out somewhere, likely wet and terrified.

I flicked the light into the trees, looking for the ever watching presence of a predator. We had owls. I heard them. Our farm had been around longer than Nebraska had been a state, and we had a healthy grove of trees. The grove was home to numerous critters, including owls and hawks. If a predator was in the tree, it would explain why Zoey wasn’t coming when I called.

A small shape on a straggly branch caught my eye. I stilled. A really small bird. About 4 inches in size. I neared the thin tree and, my light caught a small owl sitting on a long, bare branch. It’s golden eyes stared down at me. Was this a baby owl? And if it was, was momma nearby stalking my Zoey?

I crept closer, ever mindful that at any moment this tiny creature would take off. I closed in, my rational mind kicked in, reminding me that the owl was not big enough to carry off Zoey. In fact, Zoey likely could carry the owl.

Curious, I crept closer. For a breath, I realize the irony… curiosity killed the cat.

If it was a baby owl, would momma owl swoop down in defense? I have seen those videos of stupid humans interacting with nature, but usually it was a bear cub or a bison, not an owl. And I didn’t have a cell phone. Clearly I was not like them.

I shined the spotlight into the trees, whipping it around like it was a sword to protect me. No momma owl in the trees. And thank the good Lord. No spiders.

Nothing. Just soft, gentle rain.

I neared the branch and the owl’s ear tufts on its head rotated back, like dark brown eyebrows, narrowing its tiny face. I cocked my head in fascination. The tiny owl’s mottled body framed a white chest and dark stripes ran down his body. His eyebrows reminded me of my mother who’s one eyebrow would arch up whenever she believed I was lying to her.

I stood beneath the tree, marveling that he was completely out in the open, getting wet and didn’t mind at all. He didn’t shrug off the rain, but just sat on the branch as if rain was just part of a life.

When was the last time I had just stopped to enjoy the rain? Or simply stare into the darkness, listening to the softness, the hush the world embraces during a winter rain.

If I was honest with myself, I spent most time outdoors with busy work like weeding the landscaping or the garden or mowing the lawn. Also avoiding any spiders crawling across the driveway.

Wisdom, isn’t that what I was talk about owls? They are wise. Bambi has a wise old owl, and the Tootsie Pops’ owl knew how many licks to get to the center.

Owls are the ones we seek for wisdom, answers to life’s ultimate questions. But at this moment, I would ask him where is Zoey? Have you seen her? Because the problem of the moment is all that I could see most days.

I recalled how often my mom and dad would sit on the picnic table and talk. No phones. No newspaper. No distractions, just the wind rustling the leaves above them, the occasional song of a cicada. The stopped, they listened to nature around them, sometimes each other, but mostly, they sat with their ice cold drink and looked out across the valley at the beauty of a summer crop of corn or beans.

They stopped to appreciate the moment, just like this owl was doing in the rain. Enjoying his nightly bath that only nature could provide.

The owl bobbed its head at me, and I smiled. He was curious. I was curious. If I reached up, I could pet him, stroke his feathers. Maybe, he’d even jump on my arm, and we could have a chat about life, rain in December.

An idea dawned in my mind. What if I could catch him? Bring him inside and teach him to hunt spiders. Did I have a cage? I had a dog kennel. That should work. And I could just cut this branch down and put it in the kennel.

He’s likely a screech owl. I know they are small. Baby owls by now would be much bigger than this by December.

And what would I feed him? I could look it up. I’d start with spiders of course. I would find some, or they would find me. Spiders always do.

I would train him and maybe find other owls and Nellie…

I stopped. Nellie. She would be so proud of me. She would find a way to get more screech owls, put armor on them, maybe tag them with a radio band on their leg.

The owl’s ear tufts rotated back. Just like Mom. I closed my eyes, suddenly the slightest hum of shame crossing my heart. What am I doing?

Had my fear of spiders led me to look at some wild, beautiful creature and consider to turn it into my own personal weapon. Or worse, a pet.

No, the owl deserved better.

I heard a high-pitched meow, and felt the familiar rub against my leg. I knelt down and scooped up Zoey, her little chirps echoing against my skin. She nuzzled her head against my neck.

I looked up, and the owl took flight from the branch and disappeared into the dark, gray night.

Be free my friend. If you happen to catch a spider, make sure it’s a big one.