Well, one night, I decided I'd had enough. I concluded that it was just a big, dumb, beautiful bird, and I shouldn't be afraid of it, because... COME ON, I was the kind of kid who thought having monsters under the bed was a GOOD IDEA! Anyways, I stood at the back porch screen door with a small bucket of leftover gravy, three half-eaten biscuits, bread heels, a couple pats of butter that fell on the floor, half a baked potato, the peels of several apples and carrots, and the big wooden spoon used to stir all this in with the dogs' brown kibbles. My other hand clasped on the screen door latch. My throat was swallowing hard, and my mouth squirreled up into a defiant sneer as I gritted my teeth and stormed out the back door with the bucket of orts held wide, out to my side so I wouldn't spill any considering my walk had really progressed to a kind of bouncing, trotting run.
I scuttled into the barn and yelled at Clancy, Lady, Peanut to "GET BACK! WAIT!" as they sniffed anxiously at the bucket and whined a little bit with anticipation. I set the bucket down and gruffed at Lady again until she reluctantly sat back down in wait. She never had a BIT of patience when it came to food. Reaching into the deep, plastic trash bin that we kept the dog food in, I found the little metal pail and scooped kibbles into each of the dogs' dishes, the kibbles making a sparkling, crashing sound into the bowls. THAT'S when I heard the tell-tale shuffling up in the high, far, dark corner of the barn. That's when I always heard it, and I knew he was there. I scooped the left-overs on top of the kibbles, meting out each portion fairly; because, I was (in my child mind) certain that skimping on one dog would result in the kind of brawls I had with my brother when he got the last of something, or I did, and I didn't want the dogs to think I favored one over the other. Admittedly, though, I always liked Lady the best. I set the dishes down and said, "GIT AT IT!" and the dogs sprang to action, muzzles working fast and smacking at the slop.
The shuffling in the dark corner continued, and I tossed down both buckets into the trash bin with the dog food, and made sure the lid was on tight. I turned, my back to the corner and tried to walk with the most nonchalance I, or any nine year old girl with perpetual grass stains on her knees could muster. Just when I'd cleared the barn door, I heard the flapping, and even though I didn't want to, I HAD to glance back, and I did... just in time to see that big bird swooping straight down at my head. He did his usual thing where he grazed the top of my head and landed on the ground in front of me about ten paces. Turning, he spread his wings and stepped towards me to hiss. This time was different though, because instead of running back to the house, I stopped cold and raised my hands up high and yelled out, "YOU DON'T SCARE ME, NOW GO ON!" and gesticulated wildly to further drive my point home. He stopped, too, just for a moment and instead of hissing at me, just stared at me but with his head turned to the side and his one eye fixed on my wild arms. I stopped moving and held my breath, took a step towards him, and started to feel my fear turn into curiosity. All the sudden, my head was swimming with the idea that, maybe he'd let me TOUCH him! And, that we would form a bond, and I would be like one of those people they find in the jungles that were raised by apes and wolves who had a secret, special bond with animals! That, eventually, this owl would be so endeared to me that he'd do my bidding! And I'd be known around town as that "girl who has a pet owl," and I'd be able whistle or something like that, and he'd come swooping out of the sky to perch on my shoulder! I'd be like a SUPER HERO!
Then, he regurgitated the disemboweled body of a huge rat, and without looking at it, but looking directly at me, kind of danced on it with his talons, ripping a little more guts free of the body.
I screamed and ran back to the house.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
