Seward, Alaska
A couple of thugs, those two sleek RAVENS. They leapt into the air over their prone victim, wary and watchful. Then boldly landed in unison, pecked hard, and leapt again in case. Gleeful, giddy, thrilled, and self-congratulatory. Up, then back down. I could tell they were up to no good.
I screeched to a stop, clambered out of the car, and raised my arms. Whoosh! Off flew the bullies in a panic, colliding in their haste.
Lying on his belly in the pure white snow lay a beautiful and very much dead, male SHORT-EARED OWL. His outstretched tawny wings fluttered in the cold north wind, as if willing its master to once again take flight. His enormous eyes were wide open; the black pupils dilated despite the bright sunshine, leaving only a rim of yellow fire around them.
I gently turned him over, folded his wings, and picked him up, stunned by how little he weighed. The thugs vastly outweighed him. One Raven is almost 3 ½ times heavier: 2.6# to 0.75 #, and armed with a deadly, strong beak.
I imagined the hungry Owl wafting about the vacant downtown lot on this cold, sunny afternoon, looking for a tasty vole, shrew, or even errant house mouse. Suddenly, the Ravens, not picky about species, spied their mortal enemy and gathering courage, dove down and struck. A struggle ensued, told by the broken slabs of crusty snow, the mayhem of tracks, and wing marks. No blood marred the scene, just the sad body of the Owl and a few loose feathers.
At times like this, Nature is hard to witness. The beautiful owl’s death seems criminal, but the perpetrators cannot be blamed or brought to justice. How I wish I was there sooner!
Bird on,
Carol Griswold
Seward Sporadic Bird Report Reporter
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