The Owl Who Had No Hoot

Jerry was a loner. An outcast. Ever since he opened his sharp brown beak to speak, he knew he wasn't like the other owls.

This made him dread the long, warm summer nights. His family would gather with the neighboring owls, all nestled together high in the rafters of an enormous abandoned barn outside the city lights. And they would hoot. And hoot. And hoot.

Incessantly. Beautifully. Magically.

Jerry's mom had the most remarkable hoot of all. One opening of her mouth and all the owls around snapped theirs shut to listen. His sister was like that, too.

But not Jerry. He didn't inherit those amazing hooting genes. His hoot always sounded a little too high-pitched, like scratching nails on a chalkboard while all the other owls sang a deep, confident baritone hoot.

This is how Jerry learned, from a young owlet stage, to keep his mouth shut. It was better not to be heard than be judged or ridiculed by the group. He perfected the art of fading into the background. That worked for him every single night, except one.

Every summer, Jerry dreaded the longest night of the year. He could tell it was coming, not just by the immense heaviness in his breast but also by the way the sun lingered on the horizon. He felt its precipice in the deep crimson sky; too light to see stars but just dark enough to jumpstart every owl's favorite activity: hooting.

The summer solstice was officially the worst night of Jerry's life. Oh, how he hated it with a fierce passion. He'd already toughed it out for three summers in a row. But all that was about to change. This year, Jerry had devised a plan.

No Hoots This Year

The night of June 21st finally rolled around. Jerry knew just what to do. He flew to his neighborhood barn rafter and assumed his position at the back of the line.

Jerry had spent the last three years figuring out exactly how to make himself small. He'd tuck his feathers into the shadows to avoid being seen until the very last moment when the others pushed him out into the dim dusk light. There he would open his mouth and hoot with all of his might. It always ended the same way; his hoot didn't sound like a hoot. It sounded like a screech. And then, they'd all laugh at him.

But that moment would not come tonight.

One by one, each owl along the rafter took turns proudly presenting itself into the light of the setting sun to give their best hoot. But Jerry instead inched backward, deeper into the growing darkness. Away from the group. Away from the pain. Away from the ridicule.

He moved slowly but with purpose, hoping not to be noticed. Finally, he reached the broken window pane at the furthest edge of the barn.

Jerry had practiced this delicate maneuver earlier today during the full sun. He knew what to do; he gently hopped up onto the wooden box placed along the rafter, softly so it wouldn't creak. Then, he did what he did best: he got really small. Small enough to fit through the crack in the glass without shattering the pane and drawing attention. He only had one chance to spring through this tiny exit. He tightened himself, brought his feathers down, and squeezed every muscle as hard as possible. Jerry even held his breath, and then he leaped! He went straight through the center of the hole in the broken pane. He burst out of the stuffy barn air into the sharp, clean freedom of the night.

Once outside, Jerry flapped his wings, fast and hard, until he panted and lost his breath. He stopped for a rest atop a roof that gazed out over the sparkling nighttime lights. There, Jerry calmed down, mesmerized by the haze lifting from the city as the cool night air met the still hot pavement. Jerry felt something strange in his breast: a feeling he assumed was ease, although he couldn't be positive since he'd never known it before.

A sudden noise broke his calm reverie as he sensed someone nearby. It was quiet, but he heard the faintest of wing flutters. It was at that moment he realized his exit had not been as graceful as he'd thought: Jerry had been followed.

A Meeting of the Owls

He couldn't believe anyone would notice him leave. They hardly acknowledged his existence when he was there in the barn with them.

But it was true. There in the distance, a dark shadow approached.

As this shadow got bigger and bigger, Jerry felt himself get smaller and smaller. Once again, he wanted to hide and suddenly longed for the dark enclosure of the barn. He felt exposed, way up on an unfamiliar rooftop in the middle of the bustling city without a single rafter for miles. Jerry uttered something he never thought he'd say in a million owl lifetimes, "I wish I was back in the barn."

He thought about flying away, but the approaching owl's speed made it clear that whoever followed him meant to catch up. Curiosity got the best of him.

Jerry made the decision to stay put and meet this owl. He dug his talons a little sharper into the asphalt shingles beneath him; their warmth reverberated the summer sunshine and held a note of comfort.

The owl approached. Jerry clung deeper, refusing to be kicked off this rooftop that he alone had found. He gathered the strength to puff out his feathers (just a little) and waited for the owl to land.

"Wise owl?" he mumbled with surprise, just loud enough for the approaching owl to hear.

"Yes, hello Jerry," the old owl exclaimed as he landed ever so softly on the peak of the roof. He panted, out of breath, "You... you really know how to fly. I almost lost you there, Jerry," said the wise owl.

Annoyed that he hadn't lost him, Jerry replied, "Well, wise owl, I'm not truly certain why I didn't lose you. That was my intention, after all. Why on earth did you leave everyone's favorite night of hooting to follow me? Me, of all owls?"

The wise owl chuckled and cautiously said, "You were precisely the owl that I meant to follow. I've watched over you for years, your whole life." He noted the surprise in Jerry's eyes. Jerry didn't speak, so the wise owl continued, "Why did you leave the barn tonight?"

The lilt in his voice, and the fact that he wasn't called 'wise owl' for no reason, made Jerry realize the wise owl already knew the answer to that question. He decided it was safe to answer.

"I didn't feel like hooting tonight," Jerry replied, keeping his answer simple but ambiguous on purpose.

"And may I ask why?" the wise owl asked, confusing Jerry a bit.

"Well, um, I guess you can ask. I mean, um, I guess you already asked. So, well, you see," Jerry stumbled, then paused, deciding whether he could trust this owl that he'd barely spoken to in all his years.

As he scanned his barnyard memories for clues, he began to realize that the wise owl was often alone: just like Jerry. He seemed to fit in just fine, with a spectacular hoot (though not as lovely as Jerry's mothers', of course) and cordial relations to others. The other owls offered him great respect, as his name suggested, but Jerry came to realize that the wise owl was not part of any groups. And he was definitely not a part of those who laughed at Jerry. How Jerry had never realized this before was beyond him. But it was enough to convince him: he would tell the wise owl his truth, something he dared not tell anyone his entire life.

"Wise owl?" Jerry asked.

"Yes, go on now. You were telling me why you left the barn tonight," the wise owl politely reminded him as if Jerry could forget.

Jerry took a deep breath and let it all out, like a popped birthday balloon that's been stretched to its limits and cannot inflate another inch, "Every day, I stay quiet. I keep to myself. I stay in the shadows. Then this stupid summer night rolls around and messes up my entire plan. I can't do it again, wise owl. I cannot be forced to hoot and have every owl around me act better than me. I cannot be laughed at again. I am tired of being the one that others ridicule; that's why I left the barn tonight! And don't even try to convince me to go back. My mind is made up. I'm very happy sitting right here and watching the sunset, thank you very much." Jerry snapped his mouth shut and suddenly felt as if a huge weight was lifted off his feathers.

The wise owl slowly turned his head from Jerry to the sunset and back again. He knew to approach this subject delicately, for it was like a seedling blossoming through the rich brown soil in early spring. The last thing he wanted to do was squash it. He carefully chose his next words.

"I see, Jerry. It sounds like others have been unkind to you. I am sorry about that. I understand why you'd want to leave. I would, too, if that happened to me." The wise owl saw his words land on Jerry's back, softly as he had intended. The tension that previously strung through Jerry's wings dropped just slightly.

"You... understand?" Jerry asked, obviously dumbfounded.

"Yes, I do. I can imagine that's hard for you to believe that someone like myself could understand since none of the other owls seem to..."

"No, they don't," Jerry snapped. Then he softened a bit, "I just wish I could hoot like them. I wish it more than anything else in life!"

"But Jerry, not all owls hoot the same," the wise owl stated matter-of-factly.

"Not all owls hoot the same? What do you mean?! All my life, I have never known owls to hoot any differently than those around me. They all open their mouths and hoot. Except when I do it, it doesn't sound right. Why can't I hoot?"

The wise old owl stared at Jerry with eyes that spoke of compassion. He softened as he realized what Jerry could not see, and the others did not want to tell him.

Owl Reflections

"Jerry," the old owl steadied his voice, "You're not like the other owls you hang around with."

"Well... what, what," Jerry stammered, trying to get ahold of himself. "What do you mean I'm not like them? I'm an owl. Just like you. Just like my mom. Just like everyone back at the barn."

A moment of insight flashed before the wise owl.

"Jerry, come with me," he said. "We'll fly to the other edge of town, to the place with the cool, still pond. And there you will see what I mean."

Not wanting to return to his neighborhood barn until tomorrow morning, when the solstice hooting would be over, Jerry followed the wise old owl off into the night.

They flew over streets and saw children riding their bikes by moonlight and street lamps. They soared over treetops whose leaves gently swayed in the warm summer breeze. Until finally, they landed at the tip-top of an oak tree on the outskirts of town.

"It's beautiful. I've never seen such a calm and lovely place. Are there owls that live here too?"

"Why yes, Jerry, of course. There are owls everywhere though some of them... are not like those that you've known your whole life."

It was then that Jerry heard a vaguely familiar sound in the distance. The sound wasn't entirely pleasant, but it struck a deep chord in him, resonating through like the sound of a powerful drum.

"What's that noise?" Jerry inquired as he strained to listen.

"Come along," the wise owl replied. "That sound is precisely what brought us here."

The two owls flapped their wings as silently as possible until they came to land on a branch just above the shimmering pond. Below them, Jerry heard the sound with more clarity. It was louder now as the calm waters amplified it. It was more of a screech than anything else; loud, direct, and sharp like a knife he'd seen humans use to cut the strings off bales of hay in the barn. He realized then why the wise owl brought him to this pond.

"What a strange and glorious hoot these owls have. Reminds me of," suddenly Jerry gasped. "You mean..." Jerry paused, sorting it out in his mind. "You mean, there are other owls who sound like me?"

The wise old owl said nothing in return as he knew Jerry would need a moment to mull this over.

"Well, say something! And if you won't say anything, then I will go over there and speak to these owls myself!" Jerry exclaimed.

"Jerry, I need you to understand before I tell you more; your family did the best they could for you. They didn't want you to feel unwanted or like you didn't belong. But, Jerry, your family adopted you as an owlet. They couldn't have known you weren't the same kind of owl as them. And as it became apparent while you grew up, they didn't want you to know you were different. They still wanted you to feel a part of their family, loved as one of their own. And that, my sweet friend, is why you don't sound like them."

"But how could they do this to me?!" Jerry exclaimed so fiercely the vibrations of his voice made small ripples in the water.

"Because, Jerry, they didn't know there were other types of owls. Just like you never knew. They've never left the neighborhood barn either. How would they know? They didn't know why you were like you were; they just knew you weren't exactly like them. And they loved you still the same. I understand the overwhelm of shock and pain you must be feeling. Please remember, I didn't bring you here to hurt you. I brought you here to connect you to your truth."

The Truth of the Owl Who Had No Hoot

"The truth is, Jerry, you are a barn owl. You are not like the rest of us, for we are barred owls. We all hoot, but yours sounds very different, as you know painfully well. This is all part of nature. There is nothing inherently wrong or bad about it. It's only hard because owls tend to gather together based on their similarities and not their differences."

The wise owl had more to say but stopped because it almost looked like Jerry had ceased breathing.

"Jerry, are you alright?" the wise owl inquired.

"I'm..." Jerry stammered, holding back three years of emotion and pain mixed with delight, knowing that he was not as different as he once thought. He continued, "I'm going to be ok," he declared, and even the sound of his voice around those words surprised him.

"Good, because the truth is, Jerry, that all owls are beautiful and needed in the world, no matter what they sound like. My hoot may sound different than yours, but that doesn't make it any better or worse. It just makes it different."

Jerry fell into silence. The sun had finally set; the darkness seemed to swallow both owls whole. For a moment, he imagined that the light would never return and he could stay hidden in the dark, forever. But then he made a decision.

"I want to hoot with these owls," Jerry stated with determination.

"I imagined you would," replied the wise owl. And the two decided that Jerry should approach the group alone. That he could find his own way back to the barn when the time was right.

The wise owl disappeared into the black sky above. Jerry nervously flew to the edge of the group and patiently waited until one owl noticed him. He introduced himself and, to his surprise, they kindly invited him to join in their celebration.

Jerry spent that night surrounded by loud, proud, glorious screeches. And when it came time for his turn to screech, he hesitated for only a moment before opening his mouth and letting himself wail. He put everything he'd bottled up inside for his whole life into those sounds and did not hold back.

Screeeeeeeeeecccchhhhhhh, screeeecccch, screeecccch!!!!

The entire lake echoed his voice in circles, and everyone in the group fell silent. And then, instead of laughter, the next audible sounds were screams of joy and adulations.

"Way to go, Jerry!" screamed some owls.

"That was the best screech we've ever heard!" yelled other owls.

Jerry was sad when daybreak came. As the sunshine sliced above the horizon like a shiny pad of butter on breakfast toast, Jerry bid his new friends farewell. He flew back to the barn he called home and was met with open arms by his family, who had missed him and been worried sick all night. Jerry assured them all was well and promised never to leave again without telling them. Plus, he guaranteed them he would stay in the barn every single night of the year, except one.

And that is how Jerry's least favorite day of the year became the day he couldn't live without. A day when he would reunite with his barn owl friends and freely screech to his heart's content.