Owl Saving

When we got the Silkies we had some adventures with a visiting hawk. I bet he still stops by, landing on a tall lamp post every now and then, to check if he can swoop into our yard again. He can't.

We installed a Hawk Stopper net overhanging on our Silkie yard, just to see if it would deter the hawks as advertised.

It turned out to be quite a pretty latticed-ceiling landscape. It reminds me of those tall circus tents, back when traveling circuses were a thing. And of the wire mesh shapes when you're designing virtual worlds in a computer. I love resting my eyes on the perspective-shifting squares.

The mesh itself is flimsy, but the theory is that hawks will have a natural fear of them, because of their keen eye sight. Little song birds have no problem coming through to the feeders. Hummingbirds zoom past it with a royal indifference. Pigeons come under the net from one open side to grab any seeds off the ground (yes, Fae still feeds the birds and the chickens, and though she's gotten more accurate with time, she's also scaled up her seed quantities, so there's usually plenty to share). The pigeons are the funniest because when we suddenly walk out into the yard they airlift and taxi under the net, frantically flapping for about a minute, until they find their way back out. And the next day they do it all over again.

Above all: no more hawk attacks. 

It's been an endearing routine every day for almost a year now, with absolutely no trouble.

All until yesterday, when I adjusted the part of the hawk net toward the Iris Garden, to improve the setup of the kids' Ninja Playground. I tied the net about two feet higher and tightened up the slack.

This morning, as Greg stepped out to get a fresh mulberry leaf for the silkworms, he returned in the house, shaken. 

" There's a dead baby owl in the net. Or maybe alive. We need to get her out. Don't tell the kids, in case it is sad."

We quickly bundled up - cut-proof gloves, long sleeve jacket, tough apron - wild animals are unpredictable, even when you try to help.

We headed out to assess. 

Unsurprisingly, Fae had been casually tangled between our legs throughout the conversation, and had been listening.

So she was well aware there was a baby owl, thus really she was the first one out of the door saying: "Owl! Fae-Fae See!" before I even got my shoes on.

The sight was so sad. A tangled bundle of feathers, legs sticking up skyward, motionless.

Greg had been our designated wildlife handler while I had Fae in my arms. One look at the myriad of thin white threads knotted up made it clear: the untangler had to be me.

As we swapped gear swiftly, I saw a claw twitch slightly - she was alive! So we got Mara and Gaius out as well, to help. Gaius ended up being the untangler's assistant, passing scissors when needed.

It was a surgical procedure. The white threads were deeply tightened in the rich plumage, and even though the color was a strong contrast, it was impossible to trace them all the way through.

I ended up taking one glove off, to handle the threads better. The other glove stayed on the hand that was gently sustaining the little body, in case she suddenly thrashed.

My biggest fear was getting most of the threads out but missing some deeper ones, so I did not want to simply cut them off. Greg's suggestion was golden: cut around the owl so we can at least get her down. Then I won't also be precariously perched on a ladder while trying to do precision work.

As if she had heard the plan and was approving, the owl gently gripped her left claw onto my right hand's index finger. I say gently, because even though it happened too swiftly for me to escape it, she didn't grip hard. Now I had a different problem: one-inch-long needle sharp curved talons that are the optimal piercing weapon for this highly specialized predator.

I remained calm, and asked Gaius to fetch a finger-size stick so i can attempt a fancy Indiana Jones-style swap. Four parallel threads of attention ensued next. My legs were still tensely balancing on the slightly shifting ladder - the ground was uneven and there was no way around it. My eyes were glued to the gracious curve of the claws, ready to react; my mind automatically assessing how far they'd pierce inside my flesh, while my mouth was calmly explaining to Gaius why I needed a stick - because of course, my six year old needs to know the motivation of such a request before deciding whether it is worthy of his time. Luckily, in the course of that lengthy explanation, the owl graciously loosened her grip again and I recovered my finger once more.

I quickly enacted plan B: got the scissors from my now-returned young assistant, cut a netting circle around the owl, and brought her down into a towel on the chair.

Now the 'surgery' could proceed.

Part of the audience in this improvised operating theater was adamantly pushy to get close and "See, See!", but Greg was there to handle with both kind words and strong hands, and kept her under control.

I could turn my attention to the owl.

She was so small, but much more active now that I had already mostly untangled both wings. I checked for visible breakages and she looked quite good! Though I imagined how stiff she must feel.

Her massive yellow eyes were beautiful, yet frankly quite terrifying when they opened and gently looked at me. I was grateful for the bright sunlight that made her close them back up - owls are nocturnal. That, and her physical exhaustion from struggling all night, made her still stay very calm in my hands and let me handle her body.

There were still threads (even in the photo above) hiding in the plumage, so it took about ten more minutes of gentle prodding and untangling her torso and neck. But we got them all out.

In the end we had an owl that was so happy it started to stand up in my hand, turn its head and raise its two horned eyebrow feathers looking all cute and amazing. Though she didn't want her eyes open for long in the bright daylight.

As I was getting ready to drive her to the hospital for a thorough check (wing bones breakage and shock are no joke for wild birds), Mara and Greg watched her up close. 

This was such a unique opportunity to see all the special black wiry whiskers around her beak, and how she ever-so-slightly reacted to the smallest noise. 

In a few minutes Mara, Gaius and I were in the car with the owl, quietly driving to the Wildlife Center of Silicon Valley who had helped us with our last wild animal save - they are wonderful people. The owl was in the bird cage covered with a towel for comfort, and I peeked inside at times whenever we were stopped  at lights, to check on her. She had her big marbled yellow eyes open, now that she was in the dark. Half-way through the drive she actually turned around on her perch to face toward the driving direction, which I guess seemed more natural to her (as per Mara: "Well, of course, owls fly forward, don't they?").

The drop-off went great.

We now know it is a Western Screech Owl, fully adult even though she looks so small. 

And she will be checked by the doctors, supported in her recovery for a few days, and then released back right here where we found her.