Life Is Messy
Through our open bedroom window we hear their calls through the night: not the mellow "Whoo, whoo" we generally associate with wise birds, but a horrific (and very loud) shrieking. When we first moved here, it was downright disturbing: What is making that hideous racket at all hours?
Then we saw them. Peering out the broken window pane on the north side of the barn the young owlets waited for their parents to return with the catch of the day—and while they waited, they screeched.
We've listened as the owls have nested year after year. We've watched as parents have taught their babies to fly. We've cheered their successes and, sometimes, we've mourned their failures.
Tonight, I looked up from our workout station on the ground level of the barn and spotted success—three owls perched in silence, undisturbed by my antics below and evidently unruffled by Lucy the dog rummaging around on the barn's second story. They're saving their screaming for my bedtime, I'm sure.
But that's alright. I'm enjoying their family and remembering that rearing children is always messy—and usually loud. That's just the way of life.
© Copyright August 2017 by Robert G. Robbins
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