owling in my underwear

the question is whether the saw-whet heard in my yard last night was the same owl heard 2 weeks ago or a newly arrived owl, hanging out, testing the waters of lake reproduction, hoping to get his cloaca on. 

i don’t know.  same cavity, same singing pattern, same cherubic owl observer.

his singing caught me completely off guard.  i was resigned to woodpeckers and woodcock as my breeding avi-fauna neighbors this spring and now i will cross my fingers, hoping that every biologist’s dream comes to fruition:  that i can watch a nest in my underwear from my relax-a-lounger.

al bundy, owl biologist.

the current forecast strongly suggests 3-6 inches of snow this week-end.  personally, that confuses the crap out of me because i don’t know whether to ski or pedal, sink or swim. 

it was apparent last night that after i had entered the land of nod, the less-than-welcome raccoons have emerged from their wintertime damnation and were out looking for free sustenance.  my compost bin was opened and the last vestige of suet cleaned like corn from the cob. the old-timers up here won’t talk about the good old days, they’ll talk about the days on the north shore before raccoons and skunks made their appearance. 

raccoons, skunks and owl biologists.


About borealbilly

i am cursed by nocturnal self-awareness. View all posts by borealbilly

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