Billi

Billi the barn owl awoke slowly, peering at the low-hanging sun streaming in through her half-open window. She wasn't sure if it was the sunlight or the heat that woke her, but it really didn't matter. She was up now.

She opened her round eyes wider as she adjusted to the brightness and looked at her phone. 5:52 pm.

"Uggg!" she grumbled inwardly. Up early again. There was more daylight left than she really wanted to deal with. So, she picked up her phone in her wing and checked her messages. Nothing of real note there. Just the usual daily text from her pal, Oscar asking about her previous night's hunt.

"Get any last night?"

Billi groaned. Adolescent humour for adolescent owls. She grinned and typed her reply, "More than you." It was a joke, but it was also partially true. She was an excellent hunter. Better than the boys. It was what set her apart from the other birds on Mclaren Manor Farm and she wasn't keen to give it up any time soon.

She knew she'd have to eventually, if she decided to take a mate. Or rather, if a male decided to take her as a mate. It was well known that men hunt and women nest. But the truth was, Billi didn't want to do that.

She didn't want to build nests, feed babies and rip apart carcases. She wanted to sleep till dusk, have a quick coffee, maybe some breakfast and then head out for a night of good old fashioned hunt and kill! There was nothing more exciting, nothing that made her feel more alive than the thrill of identifying, stalking and then, at just the right moment, swooping down and capturing her prey. Why should the boys have all the fun?

It was a moot point, Billi reminded herself as she shook her head slightly, as if to force the daydream from her mind. She opened up Chirpagram and scrolled through a series of photos.

She sighed. It was always the same thing. Sleek, feathers, long beaks that pointed out, not down and two small eyes, one directly on each side of the head - the beautiful birds all living their best lives.

She longed to be like them. One of her favourite birdfluencers was Charity Crow, a young, stunning scavenger from the city. She had shiny black feathers that looked almost blueish-purple in the right light and she knew how to make sure that "right light" was always on her. She had a noble beak that jutted right out from her face. In a word, she was beautiful and she had the millions of followers to prove it.

Charity lived in the city. She posted pictures every day of herself in wonderfully exotic locations - fancy buildings, the sea, parks. She was a citizen of the world! And she ate the best meals, things Billi could only ever dream of tasting, things like french fries and garbage. And she always had shiny things. It made Billi's life in the barn seem pedestrian somehow - a lowly existence for a lowly creature.

Then there was Genvieve Goose, a Canadian with a shapely round body, long, slender legs and wings till Tuesday! She was gorgeous and had one of those smokin' hot bodies every bird dreamed of! From the pictures Billi saw, Genvieve had tons of friends and spent her days at the beach doing not much of anything in particular. And, every winter, she went on vacation to someplace she called "South."

Setting her phone down gently, Billi flew over to her mirror. The image disgusted her as much as it did the day before, and every other day before that. She still wasn't beautiful. She still had huge round eyes right on the front of her face. Her beak pointed more down than out. Her legs were short and almost squat. And her feathers weren't sleek or one colour, they were a strange mixture, white on her face and chest, and a mixture of browns and greys on her body.

She thought briefly about her mother, a stern and proud woman, but with a warm heart. It had been months since she died, but she still remembered how she tried to console her when she was little. She'd wipe her tears with her wing and sing to her:

Who, whooo, whooo is better than you?

Nobody, that's who, whooo whooo.

They are them and you are you,

There's room for them.

There's room for you.

How she wished Mama were here now, even if those words felt like a lie.

Billi looked around, astonished the spring sun was beginning to set. She'd been lost in her thoughts longer than she thought. "Better get the coffee on," she said aloud, "and get ready for work."

She rummaged around the old barn she called home, silently contemplating her night's work when she heard a call from outside.

"Whoooooo, whooooooo!" the voice sang.

She went to the window to find Oscar with something in his mouth.

"Oscar!" she scolded, "what are you doing here?" She hadn't meant to come off so harsh.

Oscar looked sheepish as he squeezed himself through the window's opening. He dropped the shiny round object in front of his host and grinned. "Let's nest, baby!" he said with a wink.

"Nest?" Billi asked incredulously. "Are you nuts Oscar? This is me, you're talking to."

"Yeah, so?"

She rolled her eyes. "Wouldn't you rather have someone like Charity or Genvieve? Someone beautiful? Someone exciting?"

"Nope, I want you," Oscar smiled. He took a step toward her. "You're smart and brave and beautiful. And you're real."

"Real ugly, more like," Bill snorted.

Oscar came closer, putting a wing on her shoulder. "Wanna know what I read?" he asked. Then continued, "those people on Chirpagram are all full of it. Charity Crow has to dig for garbage or pick up french fries because she doesn't even know how to hunt! And Genvieve doesn't go on vacation, she can't handle winter!"

Billi's head was swimming. A bird that couldn't hunt? Another that couldn't handle cold? It defied logic, "That's birdshit," she spat.

"Nope," he countered, "all true, I read it, look," he held out his phone.

She looked at it and read the information he presented. A warm feeling began to wash over her as she straightened herself, suddenly feeling taller, prouder. Birds that don't hunt. Birds that have to flee the winter. It began to dawn on her that, maybe, just maybe, she wasn't ugly or strange. Maybe she was meant to be exactly as she was. Maybe.

She smiled at him, but warned, "I'm no nester, I'm a hunter. I don't want to nest. I want to hunt. If I leave it to you, our family willl starve and I won't have hungry babies!" Although she couched her words in good-humoured teasing, she was serious.

Oscar stepped back from her and suddenly took flight. Landing in her nest in the rafters, he laid back, his wings behind his head and hollered, "Well, you best get out and get us something to eat, then," and winked at his new bride. He hated hunting. And he both loved and admired Billi for her intelligence and skill. "I'll take a mouse if it's on offer," he whooped with laughter.

Thinking about that day now, Billi smiles. It turns out her mother was right. She was perfect as she was. She was accepted and loved. And there was enough room in the world for all the birds.

And now, sitting on her very own eggs, she sings the same words to her budding owlets that her mother sang to her:

Who, whooo, whooo is better than you?

Nobody, that's who, whooo whooo.

They are them and you are you,

There's room for them.

There's room for you.