An Owl and a Vole

Every night, the old barn owl soars over a groaning mire of gnarled branches. Beneath him, an ensemble of unnameable squawks and howls ring out from all directions, each signalling its own dramatic scene along one of the countless life stories unraveling somewhere in the woods. Only hunger and primeval joy propel the owl below into the unknown, sending him down to pluck doomed little denizens from their forest homes before fear forces his retreat to the upper canopy.

One night, the owl’s hunger and euphoria for the hunt was stoked by an unusual feeling of safety afforded by a suspiciously quiet and bright night. Ever efficient, the owl scanned hundreds of snow-cozy'd neighborhoods before settling on his next victim: a plush, chubby vole it had become aware of weeks prior. Every previous sighting of the vole had deterred the owl, as it had dug its home next to a dense growth of brambles. Though the vole had not ventured unusually far from its den, tonight the owl believed he could outpace the vole’s retreat, which had until now embarrassed every prospective predator to cross paths with it.

The owl hesitated briefly and then fully committed to its quarry. Like a shadow, he phased unimpeded through the upper branches towards the vole, whose beady gaze was focused elsewhere. Now directly upon the vole, the owl knew it was too late for any mortal to escape at this distance. The furry critter only meagerly attempted to escape—several seconds too late. Perhaps it was old or sick.

An abrupt gust of wind interrupted the owl’s attempt to take off into the night, shoving it into the nearby brambles. Having avoided severe injury, but now reminded of his mortality, the owl vigorously extended his wings to take off, further ensnaring them on the bed of thorns he was now stuck to. The owl’s heart raced in the quiet darkness as the shrieks, caws, and howls of the woods resumed all around him.

A distant twig snapped, and the muted sound of snow crunching suddenly materialized into a large fox before him. The two predators exchanged a brief glance, one of them clearly sensing an opportunity, while the other vacated its bowels in horror. For what felt like an eternity, the fox circled and tortured the trapped owl, reaching its long snout more and more confidently towards his head on each try while avoiding the prickly vines. In their most violent exchange, the fox would have torn into him had the owl not gripped its snout with its talon in defense. Stunned, the fox tore a single toe from the talon before recoiling in awe of the owl's remaining strength.

It became clear to the fox that it would not make progress against the owl.

“Someone else is looking for you”, said the fox, as each of its ears turned in different directions. “You’d better fly away, before you forget how.”

The fox sniffed the air before gingerly picking up the mangled vole lying near the owl and trotting into the forest. Before disappearing, the fox stopped once more and made one last unnerving remark.

“Wow, I can’t believe the lungs on this one are still intact.”

That the fox would be interested in the vole’s lungs confused the owl, but confusion was a relief relative to the clarity with which he could sense the peril he was in.

Intensifying once more, unearthly hoots and bellows deep enough to vibrate the surrounding foliage approached the owl omnidirectionally. The owl closed his eyes and resigned to its doom as the sounds intensified, knowing that opening them now meant looking the great beyond in the face.

Visions of catching grasshoppers during evening walks with his parents and seeing their terrified faces up close flickered in his mind’s eye.

The man awoke in a hospital bed to a tired, middle-aged woman’s surprised gaze. She was finishing up a monologue, which he only caught the end of.

“Just—wait here, we’ll be right back, okay? Wait here.”

As the sound of foam shoes on the hospital floor faded into the distance, the man realized he lacked the strength to talk, and that he was intubated. Struggling to remember how he had ended up this way, he reached far backwards in time to find a memory to anchor himself on. Finally, he arrived at one: tequila shots with friends the night before his wedding.