Natalie's Gloria

Brown pony-tails dangle loose and wild as she swings upside-down from the barn rafters, singing a tune. Her legs are bruised and scraped from rough play but she doesn’t seem to notice the injuries. Pulling a pocket-knife from her jeans, she carves her name into the grey wooden beam.

“Whoosh”

“Hello, Gloria!” she cries.

As I land on my usual perch in the rafters, Natalie greets me and blows kisses. I pretend not to notice her as I start consuming my freshly caught field mouse. She continues singing and even starts to attempt a whistle. She has not made much improvement in her whistle. It is truly incredible how slowly these humans develop the skill.

“Hey, Gloria! How many did ya catch today?”

She is so loud.

“Poppa says you could catch a dozen mice a night, Gloria! He sure likes havin’ you here to keep them out of our grain.”

Thankfully, her knife falls out of her pocket and for a few minutes she is fairly quiet as she climbs through the rafters and down to the ground to retrieve it.

“Natalie, you found my knife, I see? Have you been playing with it again?”

Her father strides into the barn just as she is picking the knife off the ground. Natalie blushes and is remarkably silent. She hands the knife to her father.

“You haven’t been bothering that barn owl now have you?” he asks her as he looks up at me at my station.

“Of course not, Poppa! Gloria likes to sit and listen to me sing!”

He smiles at her when she calls me “Gloria.”

“You know, you can usually guess a barn owl’s gender by their colors, Natalie. I don’t think this one is dark enough to be a female.”

Finally, someone who understands.

Natalie looks up at me and squints her eyes, scrunching her nose in the process. I decide to give her a good view by slowly turning around so she can see my backside and giving one good flap of my wings before turning round again.

“How can you tell for sure?” she asks her father.

“Well, I don’t know about telling beyond a doubt, but it’s a good indicator.”

Natalie looked frustrated. She wrinkled her freckled face hard and finally said, “ Well, if you can’t be sure, I’m gonna keep calling her Gloria. I like that name.”

I cough.

Her father laughs. “I don’t think she will mind.”

I cough again.

“Well, Natalie, I came out here to have you come into the house for breakfast. Aunt Marge is here to visit for the day so come on in and spend some time with her. Maybe you can tell her all about your friend, Gloria.”

As the two leave the barn I stretch myself and yawn. The golden morning sunlight runs horizontally in through the big barn door and lands on my back. Finally, I can get some sleep.

When dusk fell at the end of day, I left the barn to pursue my prey. The night is silent as all the louder animals have gone to sleep. Those humans especially grind on my senses. It’s a wonder I still choose to live in that old barn of theirs. But all the best perches have been claimed by older owls than I. As I was hatched in a barn not far from here, I had to find what I could in the area. Something near an open field where I could hunt more easily was ideal. But most fields were also claimed by the other owls who had found comfortable perches nearby. My field is satisfactory, except for not being near enough a more comfortable roosting place than that old barn where that noisy girl likes to play some days. At least it is only some days.

My first two mice were easy prey. As I sat on a fence post, I could hear them scuttering about in the weeds looking for a meal themselves. My silent wing beats and downward dives provided no warning for them. They were snatched in my talons in a helpless heartbeat.

But then the night was disturbed by an irritating noise. Sitting on my post again, I look about to see what it is. A loud rustling is coming through the weeds. It’s that girl! What is she doing out here at night? How am I expected to hunt when I am distracted by all her racket?

Natalie came within ten feet of me before finally deciding to settle down. She looks up at me on my fence post and whispers, “Hey, Gloria, I’m here to watch you hunt. I wanna see how many you catch in a night.”

Whatever makes her think she was invited?

I fly swiftly away to another fence post about thirty feet from her. For a while, the world is silent again and I begin to listen for prey.

But it doesn’t last. Natalie soon comes crawling through the grasses again toward my new location. Again she stops at a short distance and whispers, “Is there better hunting over here?”

There is better hunting where you are not.

Maybe she will sit still long enough for me to listen. I turn my attention back to the task at hand, ignoring the girl. For a long while, she is silent. Then very faintly, I hear the scurrying of little mice paws on the ground. I wait for the perfect moment. Then I swoop down into the grasses and . . .

Natalie rises to her feet as soon as I leave my post, disturbing the weeds with her movement. My prey is alerted by her noise and scuttles away in a frightful rush; just a moment before I would have had it!

“Did you get ‘em?” she cried as I sat stunned with surprise and frustration on the ground. That’s enough from her. I rise into the air above her head and she watches me fly above her. Then I dive, open my talons and grasp a hold of one of those brown ponytails. She screams for a few seconds as I tug upwards as hard as I can manage by the beating of my wings. Then I let go and fly back to my fence post while she runs, yelling and crying back to the house. That fixes her. Now, only a few minutes before the night is once again silent.

Many nights passed before I saw Natalie again. She did not dare to bother me in the barn anymore. My days passed in peaceful sleep and she never did find out for certain if I could catch a dozen mice in one night. Thanks to her absence, I could.

Clouds roll across the sky and hide the moon and stars. It is an impressively dark night as I sit on my fencepost devouring my sixth mouse since the beginning of my routine hunt. A crisp wind blows from the north, hailing the approaching end of summer. I shiver and finish my meal. A few more and I will be full enough to fly back to my roost. Retiring early sounds much more comfortable than sitting on this post in the wind. Besides, the uneven gusts make a noise that hinders my focus.

I sit patiently. Soon, I hear the slight movement in the grass. The wind is having a moment of calm and, thankfully, the mice do not fear wind anyway. I listen closely. Here is a fat one! He can make up for my going to bed on only seven. I just have to catch him. I wait as he comes closer, closer . . .

“Whoosh”

“Scwaaah!!!”

Just a foot off the ground I collide with . . . Another owl! He attacks me with a jealousy for pursuing the same prey as he. This Great-Horned is bigger than me. We squabble in flight and fall to the ground with locked talons and insane flapping of wings. I turn over and over, rolling upon the ground as he grabs me here then there and attempts to fly off with me. I beat my wings into his face as hard as I can. But I’m growing exhausted. I’m soon helplessly flopping on the ground underneath the Great-Horned. He finally tires of the banter and takes off into the sky, leaving me in the field alone. Once he disappears, I try to lift myself off the ground, but my tired wings and torn feathers don’t have the strength. I squawk and crawl. Movement causes shooting pain through my limbs. Finally, I sit still on the cold ground and listen. The wind blows in occasional gusts; aside from that, the world is silent. Cold, hungry, and in pain, I lay through the night and try to sleep.

It’s nearly noon and my sleep has been disturbed, this time not by a gale of wind or by the curious mice, but by much larger vibrations on the ground. Something large is coming closer. It rustles the tall grasses. The whole world seems so much bigger, taller after a long night on the ground. I can’t see through the weeds, I can only see upwards toward the sky.

It’s getting nearer. What if it’s some dog that finds me and makes me his meal? I need to get away from it. I start trying to crawl again, pushing my wings in front of me and pulling myself forward, flopping and falling on my face. I have no idea where I’m going, but it’s getting closer and I can’t sit still.

“Gloria!”

Natalie places her hands around me. I freak and start flailing wildly. She quickly drops me before I get a chance to cut her with my talons. She just stands there and watches me flail on the ground for a while, then she pulls off her sweater and slowly, carefully brings it down upon me. I flap and squirm but she wraps me tightly in the sweater so that my legs and wings are pinned to my body. Then she tucks me under her arm and carries me away to the farmhouse.

“Poppa! Quickly! Gloria needs help!” she squeals.

As she enters the house her father takes me from her arms. He sets me on the table and carefully holds me tight while he unwraps the sweater. By this point, I’ve learned not to bother with flapping. I let him examine me as he pleases but he continues to hold tightly to my legs so as to keep my talons under control.

“She may have a broken wing, Natalie. I’ll see what I can do for her. Looks like she’s been in a fight with something.”

He wrapped me back up and left the room. Natalie stood gazing at me but not daring to touch until her father returned. He unwrapped me again and began slowly taping my left-wing into its natural position.

“We’ll keep her warm in the kitchen next to the radiator. Can you find a box and some rags to keep her comfortable? Where did you find her, Nat?”

“Out in the field on the ground.”

He shook his head, “Who knows how long she’s been there.”

Natalie made a comfortable box for me to rest and recover from my exhaustion. After a cold night on the ground, I was finally able to warm near the radiator. A few hours later, another man showed up to look me over again. He rewrapped my wing and shared some advice with Natalie and her father on how to care for me. After a few weeks of therapy, I was able to fly again.

On the day they took me back out to the barn, they carried me in to the place just underneath my old roost in the rafters. Natalie took me in her arms, gently, and hugged me. It was a warm hug. Then she held me out and I flew up into the rafters.

She smiles so brightly. “Glad you’re home, Gloria!”