Opinion: Where the wildlife is

So what happened to the Hootsworth family? You may remember the Homer area owl family from a previous commentary, “Family of Owls” (ADN, April 25, 2023).

In April 2023, evidence of life appeared. As our one newborn owl started to grow, we started calling him Junior.

My decision to call Junior male was not loaded with any solid empirical evidence. Instead, I gave this challenge because, essentially, I’ve always thought that boys are clumsier and perhaps a little less graceful than girls. This observation about life, true or not, fits our owl thoughts to a T.

A newborn owl bears no resemblance to an adult owl. Instead, they are fuzzy, billiard-ball-sized clumps of white feathers adorned with two pea-sized, glossy black eyes separated by a beak the size of the tip of a pair of tweezers. Hidden under its body are claws smaller than the thorns of a rose. The hooked beak and eight sickle-shaped claws, both of which are harmless at first, quickly grow into the most fearsome appendage, capable of tearing a living hare limb from limb.

The new family hung near the nest until June, during which time I got to witness all kinds of owl behavior. The most fun part may have been watching Junior as he began to explore the world outside the safety of his nest. Many of Junior’s outings involve him hobbling onto a branch near the nest, then practicing his balancing moves as a small jungle gym jumps from branch to branch, as if the tree branches were an endless maze for the monkeys. I stumbled while doing so. There, on high, a little winged daredevil will inevitably fall. Well, it’s autumn, isn’t it? The word “fall” would be more accurate. Because he always managed to catch himself with some branches. So when he self-arrests, he usually ends up hanging upside down. Returning to the nest, his mother (we named Weeps) inspects her offspring for damage. Nothing was detected and her mother and baby settled down together for an afternoon nap.

Around the third week of June, Junior began gliding. Soon after, all three birds left the nest.

Junior’s new outing was first spotted near the chicken coop. Day after day, he would hang close to the chickens, sometimes for hours, sitting on top of the chicken pen, staring intently at the birds directly below. One afternoon, as his wife and I were watching Junior and he was also watching the chickens, she said to me, I’ve seen it before. ”

“If he had been on the other side of the wire, things might have been different,” I said in Junior’s defense.

The next time I met Junior was late at night. Both my wife and I were woken up by a sudden loud thud coming from the garage roof. Jumping out of bed, we both ran to the bedroom window. There I saw Junior trying to drag the little rabbit in her claws up to the top of the garage, frantically beating its feathers against the shingles of the roof. Before he could get there, he let go of his hand and the rabbit bounced off the roof and landed smack dab in the middle of Tina’s favorite flower bed.

The owl just waddles around like a penguin, only without the dignity of the classic black and white tuxedo coat that penguins wear.

Instead of taking off in pursuit of his prey, Junior waddles off the roof, pauses in the gutter for a moment, then flies off toward his meal, forgetting what his wings were designed for, and crashes spectacularly into a dead hare. . He quickly recovered, crouched over the prize and spread his wings, holding them open. “What does that mean?” asked his wife.

“He’s just protecting what’s now his from Weeps and Wal, who are probably nearby,” I answered.

With his wings spread wide, he begins to drag the rabbit’s carcass out of Tina’s flower bed, knocking over all of Tina’s plants in the process. At this point, Teena began furiously opening her bedroom window, yelling, “Hey, you, get rid of my flowers!”

Junior looked up at his wife, unperturbed, and gave her a look that could only be interpreted as, “So, who the hell are you?” before returning to the task at hand.

With that, my wife rushed out of the bedroom and chased Junior away. As I stood there, lamely watching him ruin Tina’s plants, I thought to myself: “She’s the boss lady, unfortunately for you, you’re the boss lady you’re about to meet.”

As the summers came and went, the Hootsworths became regulars in our neighborhood. Evidence of their existence can be seen in the numerous regurgitated pellets of crushed bones, vertebrae, teeth, hair, fur, and skulls the size of thimbles that we sometimes find scattered in our gardens. Ta.

Now that we are in the middle of winter, the mating ritual calls of the Senior Hootsworth begin again, and the cycle of life begins anew. And this also involves the simple joy of finding yourself where wild things are.

pete galley He is a former Marine pilot and lives in Homer with his wife, Teena, and their three children.

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