This morning the Loser, an aging man now, found a baby screech owl while mowing his back yard. He knew where this was headed: Find the number of the place that rescues such creatures, call them, get directions, take the animal there. A time consuming, gas guzzling bother.
"Should I," the Loser thought, "just run it over with the lawnmower?"
A brief though and he didn't. The owl will be raised near a surrogate mother, fed chopped up mice by humans, acclimated to other owls (there are several of his species that fell out their nests too, the Loser was told) and eventually released into the wild where it will hunt prey in darkness, on silent wings. (Update: The Loser called a week later and the owl is fine, hanging out with other owls, growing feathers, eating. He wishes he could have kept it so he could have moments like the ones seen here.)
|It's ugly as a youth, but one day this owl will be a wonderful thing to see.|