A Bird's High View

Barn owls squint their eyes when they feel threatened. Sometimes they sway back and forth, sometimes they hoot and howl, and sometimes they spread their wings. This particular barn owl chose to squint her eyes. Her talons clenched the edge of the alcove she resided in. Her alcove. This particular barn owl had been nested in the same tree hollow for the entirety of her life. Except now, four oblong shapes rested underneath her feathers. Defenseless and still.

The owl peered across the river bank, through the thicket of weathered timbers. Sometimes the grove had leaves and sometimes it didn’t. This time it didn’t.

She could see them but they couldn’t see her. This was no set of prey. These were predators. In her four years, she had never seen such predators. Across the way, was the biggest den she had ever seen. It was something she had always focused on. Watching, waiting. The masterpiece was structured perfectly, and fit for even the most massive of species. There had been no sounds from this enormous covert. No prey. No nothing. Until those predators arrived. The owl could see just above the top of it, over to the smooth, well-ordered strip of ground. These predators were different. Definitely of the same species, although not one she was familiar with.

She began to sway back and forth gently. The two predators were moving in similar ways, in between the monstrous object they arrived in and the den. In, then out. Out, then in. They were gathering belongings — things for their new habitat.

One predator was small, the other was larger, when compared to each other. Both were colossal to her. She hissed.

It was strange. They were the same, but different. One male. One female. The barn owl could not tell who was which. She was inclined to believe the larger one was female, just as she had been larger than her mate. And then she noticed — the spots. The dark spots scattered all over the small one. Its milky fur coating was decorated, similar to the way hers was. There was blue under its eyes, much darker than the blue sky that the owl had come to know and love. There was an even darker blue on its arm — midnight blue. The rest were spots. Its fur was presented in such a fetching, beguiling way. Creased, marked fur. Surely the purpose of its appearance was to attract a mate, just as hers had. The owl decided the smaller, excessively garnished one was the female.

There were no forms of communication between Male and Female Predator. Male stopped, letting Female go before him. There were multiple burrows built into the den, in which they enclosed themselves. The den had its own sunlight, apart from the rest of the woods. Her sunlight had run out that day. And so, the owl squinted harder, watched, and listened.

The days went by and the owl did not stop watching. Her sunlight came and went. Her sky turned from blue to gray to black over and over again. All she focused on was her squinting, watching, and listening.

She hooted and howled here and there, sometimes hissed. But her noises were no match for the predators’. They had two frequencies; one high, one lower. The high frequency was always screeching, squealing, and squawking. The lower frequency was hooting, hollering, and heckling.

All were foreign signals to her. When they were closer, she would be able to decipher exact sounds. Sounds like, “Why are you like this?” from the high frequency. Then came, “Because I have to live with someone like you!” from the low frequency.

The female predator would come outside, showing off her coat to the woodlands, and crouch by the shrubs on the side of the den. Camouflage? No, the owl could see her from a mile away. She would crouch, stand up, and go back inside. And then, before long, more screeching, squealing, and squawking.

The days went on like that. The owl never lost focus. Never took an eye off that den. The predators were in a routine. And the owl was not going to be caught off guard if they ever broke that routine.

Weeks went by. One day, before her sunlight was used up and theirs flickered on, she heard the high-frequency screaming. Not screeching — screaming. Thumping. Crying. Shouting. Yelling. Bumping, banging, crashing. A slew of calamitous noises pierced the owl’s ear tufts. The predators were tampering with the den. She looked into the woods to see if one of their predators were coming, but found nothing. Then silence.

The owl gazed into one of the holes in the den. Nothing moved. And then beeping – methodical, organized beeping. Another crash, the beeping stopped, and then came the low frequency spouting foreign signals of communication: “Don’t you ever try that shit again, you hear me? Ever!” And then back to high-pitched, soprano squealing.

Female Predator rushed outside. The barn owl spread her wings. Female squatted in her spot by the bush and hung her head down. Her fur was ruffled, and her spots had grown more numerous and more noticeable. The owl swayed and squinted until she was sure Female had gone back inside. Their sunlight went dark in a split second, but the owl never stopped observing.

They did not leave. They did not hunt, gather, or kill. The owl wondered how they stayed alive. Well, they weren’t getting her babies, she convinced herself.

Despite much uncertainty, there were select encounters the owl could anticipate; they would communicate; there would be banging, crashing, and thrashing; and Female would come outside. This went on week after week. Female began looking more frail, more vulnerable. The owl would go days without seeing Male.

It was dusk. Right before nightfall — before the sunlight ran out, the barn owl sensed the threats stirring. She cooed, grasping the edge of her tree alcove with her sharp talons.

She heard rummaging, on top of rustling, on top of careful toeing. Slam. Running. Low frequency overpowered high frequency. The barn owl spread her wings and howled as loud as she could. Out came Male, with Female right behind him, hollering. He was holding something: a miniscule pouch, a sack — something. It was very small, and its contents matched that of the liquid dust in the frozen times. He dispersed it all over the soil and grass. The barn owl stared at him. The pouch was on the ground. Female stared at him. She ran back into the den. Male stomped on the mysterious contents.

Female emerged, holding onto something as well. It was a serrated talon — unnatural looking, not like the owl’s. It was much lengthier, and much sharper. The barn owl revealed her own talons and claws as she tensed up.

“Mom! No, don’t. Mom!” Male screeched in his high-pitched frequency.

Female growled her low frequency and lunged at Male. She sliced the underside of his beak, damaging his fur. A substance appeared, like an extra layer — thicker than rainfall and darker than the river.

Male stumbled backward, alarming the barn owl. He tumbled to the ground. Female hustled toward the scattered remains of the pouch. She dropped the honed talon, picked the contents up with her natural claw, and stuffed them in her nostrils.

Male arose quietly. The owl noticed the look in his eyes — his instinct. He was going to attack. And that was what he did. He charged Female, shoving her face into the ground as he did so. She struggled and wailed and growled. He grabbed a light gray object out of her pocket and stuffed her further into the dirt. He raced inside and slammed the den trap shut behind him. The owl heard a click, which then cued a banging from Female.

“No, Graham, no! Let me in. I’m sorry. Mommy’s sorry.”

The owl focused on Male. He unfolded the peculiar object, and placed his claw on the bottom half of it. The familiar, methodical beeping carried through the air, ricocheting off her asymmetrical eardrums. He walked away and started his frenetic, high-frequency communication again. Female was left outside.

Blue lights. Blue lights flashed, cutting through the pitch-dark landscape. Flash. Flash. Flash. It was coming from its own monstrous object, just like the one the two predators had used to fly there.

Two of the same species circled around the corner. No spots. Males. Gigantic males, at that. They each had their own source of sunlight glistening towards the den. One male found Female cowering by the chaparral picking and raking at her spots. The other male flared his light at the ground, detecting the remains of the pouch. He scraped his claw on it, which was covered in a different coat than the rest of him. He studied it, pondered it, then cooed the prolonged, extremely low frequency, “Methamphetamine.”

Female had her claws behind her back, and was swaying next to the two hulking males. She had a squeal of her own now. The pair of males carried her to their beaming transportation object and stuffed her in. Male came from inside and embraced one of the two giant males. Baritone signals were exchanged with falsettos.

The barn owl did not know what happened, or why it happened, or what it happened to. All she knew was there were no more predators, there was no more threat, and there was no more need to squint her eyes.

And then came a faint crack beneath her feathers.