Who Cooks For You? Who? Who?

This great horned owl and his (her?) mate have been hovering around this redwood tree for a couple of weeks now. The tree is roughly 50 yards from the backyard, and the owls balance at the very top in the early morning, around 7 a.m., and again in the evening, around 5 p.m., calling to a third owl, somewhere in the distance.

This morning, they both flew from the redwood to the eucalyptus, then back to the redwood again; when one flew off, the other sat tight, so Steve ran upstairs to fetch his camera. This is the result, although he wasn't thrilled -- the sky was overcast and the light poor -- but I think it's pretty good.

He also ordered an owl call from Cabela's; instructions say to blow it as if you're saying: "Who cooks for you? Who? Who?" But every time we try, we crack up. Which means we won't quit our day jobs.

I Heard the Owl Call My Name

At 4:12 a.m., I was sitting at my computer, thinking I'd blog about Kristen Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset, when I heard a great horned owl calling. I ran downstairs (in the dark -- crazy, I know, but I didn't want to alert it by turning on a light), and popped outside, where I stood barefoot, in my PJs and bathrobe, listening as a second owl responded, and then a third! I knew they were different birds, as the voice of the first bird, the caller, was slightly higher than the second bird, the responder. The third bird called from somewhere south, but never flew closer to join his comrades.

Temperature was close to 58 degrees, with a light wind blowing from the south. I got cold after 18 minutes and came inside, as it seemed the calls were becoming fainter. I'd hung in, hoping they'd fly west, directly over the house, but they must have flown east, where the eating is better.

4:39 a.m. and they're still calling! (Renee. Come. Out...Renee. Come Out.) I worry a lot about these birds, but tonight, at least, my faith in their future is restored.