Remains of an Owl
On our walk yesterday we found the tattered feathers, bones and talons of an adult great horned owl. I picked him up gingerly by a single long, curved toenail and, holding the mess at arm's length, carried him home. A young couple driving by almost wrecked their car. Craig read her lips: "I don't know."
I kept aside the feet and talons and hung the rest on the back fence. I watched for buzzards all afternoon, but none came. I think they had already finished with this one. The local buzzards often dine in the general area where we found the owl.
A bird of this kind would not have a natural predator in these parts, as far as I know. Hard to say what could catch and kill a great horned owl anywhere. An eagle?
Look at those talons. I have added them to my grisly collection of animal memorabilia, which includes a couple of interesting snake skins (shed) and several skulls, including the skull of a wild boar.
Life is hard even if you are the hunter. When predators get old, I suppose they must start slipping up. Maybe the little possum gets away. No dinner for the owl.
I was teasing my friend David, a vegetarian, about how many plants I'd have to kill to make us a dinner, and he silenced me with this beautiful passage:
Almost had me thinking well of humans for a minute there. Mother Nature herself is nowhere near this gentle.
Continue: Dark Adventures
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