Do you remember when I wrote about the three owls that came the night before my three hens died? Well, they moved in.
They just stayed here. They hang out every night right next to our house. They are in my friend, the Maple tree, on our fence, in the trees along the driveway. It’s surreal and such a treat to get to see them so closely. I mean, what an opportunity to observe nature, right?
Our teenaged son goes for walks along our driveway at night while he listens to music, and he says there is one owl in almost the same spot every night. He says it watches him. My son’s favorite animal is the owl, and that’s saying something. He doesn’t overtly love nature the way Ron and I do. It’s cool that I can see it in there though. Anyway, this has been a treat for our son, and he has been able to capture some great footage of these birds watching him right back.
Of course, they are a little scary. Owls can do terrible things to ducks, and the ducks like to stay out late. I have to be so diligent in making sure the ducks are up as soon as it is dark. The owls are a worry for sure. In fact, I don’t think we are going to be able to go anywhere past dark without getting someone to put up the ducks, and since I don’t really know anyone who might do that for us, we are stuck thanks to our new neighbors.
But that’s okay. I’ll just have to be diligent. I love having these new neighbors. They are helping us avoid the situation like we had last year with rats in the coop. I am grateful. Plus, they are so beautiful.
Last night, I saw an owl up close. It was about 20 feet from me, and it was huge and magnificent. I heard a screeching when I went out to close the little door on the chicken coop, and there, sitting on one of our garden posts, was a huge Barred Owl. I shined my flashlight right into its face, and it looked right at me.
I felt badly for shining a flashlight right in its face, but when it screeched again, I had to take another look. This time, I held the light just a little longer to get a better look. It was beautiful, fairly big, and I could see its feathers blowing in the strong breeze. It was like something from a dream.
It didn’t move. It was hunting in our garden, and I was thankful. I should have walked away, but I stood there, wishing for it to make another sound. It did, and then it took off toward the front of our property. Right over my head! Then, a second owl flew from my Maple tree, which is near the ducks, who were still out, so instead of admiring the second owl, I made haste for the duck area. As the owls flew by, I heard a third owl in the trees at the front of our house. Who cooks for you? Both owls I could see were flying toward the third owl’s call.
When I made sure the ducks were safe and sound, I remembered my experience with an owl before Gus died, and I wondered if we were going to lose Lucy in the morning. Schumann and Little Brown Hen were also struggling with different health issues, but I thought Lucy would be the first to pass. She really took a turn for the worse while I was away all week. I wasn’t there to pamper her, and I don’t think she ate well enough on her own. It’s a sign it was time for her, but I am still heartbroken. Lucy was the last of my original hens, and I will have to write more about her this week.
But Lucy wasn’t the only hen I would lose today.
When I went to check on Lucy this morning, I could see that, indeed, today was the day. She was no longer able to walk or feed herself at all. If she didn’t pass today, we would have to help her pass, but I didn’t think it would come to that. I was correct. This morning, after morning chores, Ron and I both said goodbye to her and gave her ear rubs. She passed while we were having morning tea. I hate that she’s gone. She made it a lot longer than I thought she might, but I still hate that she’s not out there anymore. We got really close in the last two months. It has been an honor to be her hospice care.
Schumann is the white hen in this picture. She loved, loved, loved helping Ron in the garden, and he came to count on her as one of his best helpers. Not all chickens can be trusted in the garden, but Schumann was one.
Shortly after, I had to meet a friend to deliver eggs. I also picked up a few things at the grocery store. By the time I got home, Schumann had passed. I was not really prepared to lose her.
Two months ago, when Schubert died of a heart attack suddenly, I was really worried. Schubert and Schumann loved each other a lot. They were sisters, which also made me worry about Schumann’s genetics. I don’t know if it was the genetics or the broken heart, but Schumann also started struggling while I was gone this week. I kept checking her for any issues, but it seemed like her heart was giving out. She was five years old. She was a very good friend to me. She was also close to Ron and was one of his garden helpers.
Losing Schumann was a blow. It was all too much, and I cried myself into a terrible headache.
But I had to also take care of Little Brown Hen. She has no real name because she was in a big batch of babies that Broody Hen raised several years ago, and she is plain brown. She is so sweet and, sadly, has had ovarian cancer for a bit. A few months ago, I saw her doing all of the things Poe did toward the end. I’ve been treating her extra special in the last few weeks, and she moved out of the chicken yard and into the front yard to have peace at the end. She got to run around the front yard and be first to get all of the good treats.
This afternoon, when I went to check on her, she wasn’t walking and had flies bothering her, so I scooped her up and gave her a very gentle, very warm bath. Then, for about two hours, I just held her in the towel in my lap. I got very little work done today. I tried to tell Little Brown Hen it was okay to let go. I don’t think she’ll make it through the night.
When I was holding her this afternoon, my teenage son walked by and asked why I was holding a chicken in the house. I told him how I found her. “Nobody deserves to be bothered by darn flies when they pass away,” I said.
My son thought for a second and then said, “You’re right.”
And then, after another pause, he said, “I love you, mom.”
I hope he is learning to respect all life and treat it well because it is all a gift. All of it. We just have forgotten. And, oh my goodness, isn’t that wild about the owls?
One. Two. And then three. My girls let go. I am weary from this grief tonight.
Just the other day, my son and I were having a conversation about animals, and he asked me what my favorite animal was. I explained that I could not choose–dogs, cats, chickens, donkeys, elephants, squirrels, Eastern Phoebes…How can one choose a favorite animals?
“My favorite is the owl,” he said.
“Oh, that’s a cool favorite,” and I added that owls, though magnificent, are scary to me because I am a chicken and duck mama. I told him about the video I saw of what an owl does to a duck and that I was kind of scarred for life from it.
He understood, but we both agreed that an owl has to eat too and that they are, indeed, magnificent animals.
Two nights later, I would have a close encounter with an owl that I just have to write about.
It started with a perfect storm of circumstances, as these stories always seem to do. I was really hungry, and it was late. I decided to go ahead and eat dinner quickly before putting up the ducks, which now includes an Anna Maria rodeo because she doesn’t like sleeping in the bathroom.
Of course, there is no choice, so I rodeo every night. She complains and fights me. I tell her this is for her own good. She doesn’t believe me. I give her peas, put her in her nest. That’s what we do every night now. Then, I work to get the rest of the ducks put up. They love to party late during the summer, so it’s all a bit of a chore.
Anyway, it was getting pretty dark by the time I finished dinner. On top of this, Bairre was in a mood because he didn’t get to have for dinner what we had for dinner, so he was doing his “thing” when he’s being difficult and doesn’t touch the ducks because he’s not supposed to but gets really close to them to make them upset. The ducks are just fine when Boudica is near them, but Bairre cannot yet be trusted. I don’t blame them. He’s such a puppy still, and his track record is sketchy.
I managed, despite Bairre causing his chaos, to get Anna Maria caught and put up. By the time I headed back outside, the ducks were acting really strange. I thought maybe it was just Bairre, but it seems a little extra. I was making my way around to the corner to go see what was going on when I heard the owl–and it was in the tree right above my head!
I was panicked. It made some sounds that did not sound good for my ducks. For a second, I just froze, trying to calculate how quickly I might be able to get to the ducks. Thanks to Bairre, they were out in the middle of the yard. Usually, when it gets even close to dark, they will stay under the deck or near the house. But they were out there in the wide open, and an owl was on it.
I began hollering for Ron or our son for help, but I was pretty sure they weren’t coming. Ron was in the basement, and our son, who was outside, was wearing his AirPods. He always has those things in his ears. He listens to music every second he’s awake if he can, and it gets a little old when I’m trying to get his attention and have to hunt him down. Anyway, I was cursing those AirPods.
I heard the owl make a wild sounding call again right as it flew out of the tree. It was right over my head and going right toward the ducks. In hindsight, it was magnificent to see–those wings right over my head. There was a small amount of light left in the sky, just enough to for me to see the silhouette and some under-feather patterns. My goodness! It was beautiful. Its wingspan was about three feet. I think it was a Barred owl, but I definitely didn’t hear “Who cooks for you?”
The only thing I knew to do, as I could see it was going to be on the ducks in one second and it would probably take me at least 10 seconds to get there, was throw my hands in the air and scream, “NOOOOOOO!”
Just as it made a swoop to the ground, Bairre came bounding around, clueless to the owl but aware enough to see that something was wrong because of the way I acting. Either his presence or mine was enough to make the owl move on. A sense of such relief fell over me.
I started hollering again for Ron, and he finally heard me and came outside to get Bairre, as Bairre clearly had to be put in the house and I clearly couldn’t leave the ducks alone.
Ron got Bairre put up, and I got the ducks put up (they went up super fast, no partying). All was well.
But I was thinking, “there is surely never a dull moment around here, is there?”
I have a story to tell today! But, before I can tell it, I think I have to give a little context.
In 2019, we had our first hawk attack on our chickens. I was in the house and heard a loud scream from the chicken area, but I didn’t run out there right away. We had 8 young chickens, who were about 9 weeks old, and they had just been out with the “grown ups” for a few days. I watched them closely for the first couple of days to make sure they weren’t picked on too much. They weren’t. We have a pretty peaceful flock. But a couple of them just screamed and screamed at the slightest peck on the head. They had some melodramatic leanings for sure. One was a little rooster, and he was as cute as can be–and such a mama’s baby. When his mama said he had to be grown up at 9 weeks, he took it hard.
Given this situation, I took my time getting out to the chicken area when I heard that scream. When I opened the front door and saw the reason for the scream–a hawk on the back of one of my original Rhode Island Reds, Lucy II, I was devastated. I ran upon the hawk, but I was too late. It was truly one of the most devastating experiences because I could have saved her. I felt like the worst chicken mama in the world, and truly, that day, I was.
I vowed that would never happen again.
And it hasn’t. I am now extremely in tune with every sound, every call, every bit of talking. At the slightest potential sound of distress, I drop everything I am doing and go check. Without fail. Every single time. For nearly 4 years. I’m going to be honest, I don’t know if it’s good for my nerves, but it is what it is.
I have become so adept at figuring out bird calls, I feel part bird. This has been helpful in keeping my chickens safe, but we live in the Maine woods, and in the spring and summer, this means I also hear, with far too much detail, the calls of the birds in our woods. It’s mostly wonderful, but being awoken at 4:00 in the morning because a wild bird is upset about something does get old. And the worst is when I hear a baby distress call. The very worst is when I hear a baby distress call that goes on and on and on and on. I know something must have happened.
That happened last night. I was cooking a very late dinner because Ron was working in the garden until dark and I had some final grades due for a class. As I was cooking, it was starting to get dark outside, and I heard the distress call. I kept hearing it and hearing it and hearing it. It’s heartbreaking.
When Ron came in, I told him about it. And then told him about it some more. I knew there was nothing to be done. I could tell it was in a tree very near our house, but I had no idea what tree, and what would I do anyway? Climb a tree?
Ron got up and shut the windows. “There,” he said. “No more outside noise.”
We finished dinner, and then I got the duck’s peas ready for bedtime. I opened the back door and stepped out to greet the ducks and was also ready to listen carefully to see if I still heard the baby bird distress call.
What I heard instead was a scream that sounded just like a human screaming in terror, and it was coming from right above my head.
I just froze in panic. For a few seconds, my brain had no idea what I had heard. I had this instinct to drop the peas and run, but I also had the instinct to run to my ducks to protect them. I couldn’t move a muscle. And then, about 30 seconds later, I heard “who cooks for you?”
photo credit: Richard Lee, Unsplash
Oh my gosh! That’s a barred owl, I thought to myself, and I could breathe again. Of course, then I realized I had better get the ducks into the house, as that owl was right above us. I watched far too much of a video one time about what an owl does to a duck head. Thankfully, the ducks didn’t play their games too much last night and went into the duck house fairly quickly. As I circled the duck house for a few short rounds of the duck game, I realized I also didn’t hear the baby bird in distress anymore…
It could be a coincidence, but the sounds were definitely from the same area. And, as sad as I am for that baby bird, I know an owl has to eat, and it’s better this way than that poor baby starving to death.
Nature.
When I came inside to tell Ron about it, he didn’t seem to understand the weight of my fear of that first scream. He probably would have known it was an owl immediately. I did not. I hear a lot of owls, but I had never heard that particular scream that close to me before. I’ll bet it was less than 15 feet from me.
My adrenaline must have gotten up so much from the scream that I ended up with a terrible headache, and, of course, felt silly for being so scared. I guess, for about 30 seconds, I thought Stephen King was right and there were terrible things in the Maine woods.
Thankfully, it was just a barred owl, but if you have never heard the scream, you must listen to it here. I found it by Googling “barred owl scream.” And when I searched for it, one result come up “owl that screams like a human.” Here it is below. Listen at 0:07.
If you think it’s terrifying too, please leave a comment because I think Ron thinks I am ridiculous for being so frightened.
***
And I have to give a quick Ruby update. She took a break from her eggs today and didn’t want to go back again. She flew over into the main chicken area and was just having a party with everyone else. I had to run her down in the chicken run after an hour of her party, which made her stress–and everyone stress. I honestly can’t believe I caught her again. She’s so fast! But she ran under a shrub and thought she was hidden from me, so I scooped her up. When I took her back to the eggs to see if she was going to get back on them (I was starting to think I was maybe going to have to give her eggs to Kate, who has also gone broody now), she went straight to them, wiggled her little self on them, and then screamed at me for getting too close when I checked her water. That chicken.
