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Into the woods

See him? That's our barred owl. Don't know how wise he is, but a friskier fowl you will never see.
As much as he's denying it, the hubs isn't out of the woods with regards to the stomach virus I have named Beelzebub (believe me, Montezuma has NOTHING on this evil entity.) Fortunately, we have woods in our front yard which are providing a welcomed distraction in the form of another spring mating ritual. Last year, it was toads. This year, it's owls. For the last month, two barred owls have called - at surprisingly high decibel levels - to each other several times a night. Not to mention morning, noon and evening. (Nocturnal creatures, my foot. These birds are having themselves some afternoon delight.) The entire neighborhood is complaining of insomnia, yet we're all giddy over the prospect of baby owls flitting about. Now, it appears the blessed event may be nigh. Papa Owl is guarding the nest in our dead, hollow tree (which we've postponed taking down indefinitely due to the hooters) and the mating calls have decreased to two or three times a day. He watches us like a hawk (although he'd probably resent the comparison), especially when we get too close to that tree. Owls have been known to scratch humans eyes out when they perceive them to be a threat to their young. I'm keeping my distance.

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