OWLTALE

This is 1 of 13 short stories about my about my youth I wrote as Christmas gifts to my children many years ago. Enjoy,

It happened again and again.

It was a big bird, but always too far off on the horizon to ascertain what kind.

I had seen the bird in flight almost every evening, about six-thirty, for a month. I knew the approximate time because it was always about the time we were milking the last 6 or 7 cows. With the three electric powered milking machines we used properly mounted and at work, it provided a lull in the attention required. That lull allowed me to stand at the south entrance door to the section of the barn housing the thirteen metal stanchions and four wooden ones used to hold the heads of the cows while feeding them their ration of corn silage, and milled corn and oats, and for the milking process. I could see only a part of the southern sky from that door, but enough to catch a regular glimpse of that big bird.

While the milking could be done by one person, it was easier and about twenty minutes faster with two. In addition to getting the cows organized and locked in – some cows had a favorite stanchion for some reason, which was not always concurred with by others – there was the feeding and cleaning of tits and utters prior to milking. With two, one could also be carrying the milk away to the strainer and cans that were situated at the east end – while the other moved and loaded a machine to the next cow.

The bird used its wings slowly and gracefully, which at first glance made it look like a heron. But the rest of the shape was not that of a heron. Maybe it was an eagle or hawk, although its movements were not exactly like either of those either. It flew at a leisurely pace – from east to west – within an altitude of two hundred feet. It disappeared over the horizon to the southwest, where the last field in that direction abutted the woods. Both my Dad and older brother had seen the sight as well, but neither had identified it.

I was fascinated by the fowl. After the milking, I had gathered the big shotgun and headed for the woods many times, in search of the bird.

The woods were a relatively dense stand of trees making up the far end of the pasture the cows were placed in daily during the spring and summer months. It covered about 60 acres, and had a creek running through it. The steep hills and terrain made the acreage unfit for cultivation.

I was thirteen. As I had gotten older and larger in physical stature, I had gotten more involved in the work around the farm. In the winters I had worked beside Dad and older brother Kenny in thinning out the smaller trees and brush in the woods – an activity spent to allow more light and therefore more grass to grow for the cows. I had rolled a tractor in the woods the year before as I was taking it and its front loader down to help with clearing – and had made too sharp a turn on one of the steep side hills.

The woods were a favorite area for cows to calve, and I had gone looking for missing, pregnant cows on several occasions. Sometimes there was already a calf, which meant I had to be sensitive to the motherly instincts of the cow. Most of them weighed in between 1,200 and 1,400 pounds, and demanded respect – especially when someone started messing with their newborn. Other times the cow had not yet calved, and it was simply a matter of driving the cow to the barn for the birthing process.

I had been hunting squirrels and rabbits for the last three years – mostly in and around the woods. Hunting was something I thoroughly enjoyed – especially in the woods. Though the acreage was small, it was like another world, and I could get ‘lost’ in it.

Now it was this unknown bird that presented an excuse and challenge in the woods at seven thirty almost every evening. For all the times I had gone looking for it, I had not seen it. I had looked in and around the creek in case it was some sort of waterfowl. I had walked the hills with my neck cramped upward trying to spot it in the trees. I was beginning to think that the bird’s destination was not the woods, and that it simply kept going when it disappeared over the horizon each evening – perhaps to the nearby Mississippi River.

It was late July. I had not seen the flight of this bird this evening – but that could simply be because I was busy with the milking during the few minutes the bird’s lazy flight was visible from the barn. No matter. It was a nice evening, and I was up for a walk in the woods with the shotgun.

I went straight west across the field behind the barn, crossed the fence to the cow pasture that meandered around the hollow which made up the grazing area, and entered the woods from the east. This first, narrow section was mostly oak and walnut, and was relatively open. After an eighth of a mile and past the last field on the property to the south, the ‘real’ woods began. To the south and west from this point the tree population was more dense, and the world changed for a thirteen year old. The real stealth needed for the hunt began at this point.

Sunset was about a half an hour away, and the trees were casting long shadows to the east. I moved slowly and deliberately, careful where I put each foot to ensure silence. I stopped and sat for a few moments on a knoll, scanning the trees for some foreign shape. Nothing. I moved farther, down a slope and up the other side and stopped again for a survey of the trees from a different angle. Nothing.

The sun was down, and it was time to begin thinking of heading home. Light was deteriorating to the point where human eyes were less useful. Just as I relaxed and released a silent sigh of disappointment, I saw the outline of a large shape against the dimming sky, sitting on the branch of a big oak about twenty yards away. At the same instant the bird must have felt the presence of the hunter, and launched itself into the air, its body dipping a few feet as it took flight. I raised the 10 gauge, and leading the bird slightly, pulled the trigger. The whole thing was over in what seemed like milliseconds.

The spray of the shot hit some surrounding trees and branches, but enough had gotten through to hit the bird. I knew the bird was at least winged by the way its flight was interrupted and the way it went down. It had hit the ground just over the crest of a hill and out of sight. I rushed to the expected spot and in the now dim light of dusk began searching for my prey. I found it quickly.

It was dead. It was huge. It was an owl.

It had a wingspan of over 7 feet. I had never shot anything this big. I felt a rush of excitement and exhilaration. I felt like the great white hunter from Africa. I could already feel the satisfaction of the oohs and aahs of my parents – especially my Dad – and siblings.

I picked up the owl. It weighed more than the shotgun, and the gun weighed 16 pounds. With the weapon in one hand and the bird in the other I was adequately balanced but burdened for my size and frame. I began the trek home.

Two of my younger sisters were trying to catch fireflies in the front yard as I approached. I called to them to get everyone outside. The outside light went on as my brother and five sisters gathered around as I laid the bird down on the grass a few yards from the front door. I was stretching out the wings as Mother came out the door. The fulfillment of my expectations was happening as members of my family were obviously awed by the sight of this huge bird. I felt really proud. Then my father came out the front door.

“What the …?” He didn’t finish the question as he descended the steps from the house. The disbelieving and irreverent tone of his abbreviated question settled heavily on the bystanders as they stepped back and made a path for the paternal head of the house. The outstretched bird lay between my father and me as he approached. I didn’t move. My feet were frozen in place. So were my lips and my breathing.

Dad stopped directly on the other side of the ‘trophy.’ I still entertained slim hopes of accolades and a pat on the back. Those hopes were short-lived as I saw the pained expression on Dad’s face. When he took his eyes off the ground and looked at his youngest son, I could feel the stare bore into my head. I could also feel my height shrink at least twelve inches. The thrill of victory did an immediate one-eighty.

“You don’t kill owls.”

Dad went on, me hearing the basic message – but not all the words. “Owls control rodents, snakes and other pests. Owls are our allies. Owls this size are rare in this area. Owls are good – anyone who would kill one…”

There was no physical punishment or discipline, although at that moment I would have welcomed forty lashes with a horsewhip.

I felt lower than the snake the owl might have dined on this evening. I felt ignorant and stupid. There was not a lawyer in the world that would touch my case. There was no defense. My only option was a guilty plea followed by throwing myself to the mercy of the court.

The mercy came as Dad’s tongue lashing stopped. There was a final moment of silent glare into my eyes before turning and heading back into the house. Mother followed.

The silence was deafening. Even the crickets had stopped their calls.. Whenever one of us was disciplined or dressed down we all shared in it. This time it was more serious than I could ever remember. I stood with my siblings arrayed in a petrified state except for our eyes – which quickly glanced between each other as if the sky had opened and God had just thundered down the Ten Commandments. Everyone was checking with each other as to the reality and significance of the event without being the first to speak – fearing the others might think the speaker suffered from delusion.

The ‘crowd’ slowly and silently dispersed. One by one they entered the house, finally leaving me alone with my shame and my dead bird. After about fifteen minutes I determined I could move. I picked up the once proud aerial predator and carried it all the way back to the woods. There was only the light of a first quarter moon, but it didn’t matter. I knew the way. And I wanted it far away. Maybe there was also an illogical sense that by taking it back, some of the ‘crime’ could be undone. Sleep did not come easy that night.

It was an important lesson in my life. Not only about the value of owls, but that one doesn’t pull the trigger before identifying the victim. Stay under control. A mindless mistake a can be made in a second, but the consequences can have a much longer duration.

SPIDER Bytes

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