Dane and I read this on his iPod at around 5 in the morning, while we crouched in the empty foyer of our new house (we have a new house!). It was dark and we were wearing nothing but our underwear.
We had been up for about 10 minutes. The thumping and banging noises that woke us up had been going on much longer . . . but it took us a while to remember that the kids were at their grandparents' house and this wasn't normal. Once we came to our senses, our first thought was bats. Several bats live in the roof of our front porch, and as we staggered out of the bedroom we saw a window screen on the floor. We were a little distracted, though, since something was hurtling around the 12-foot ceilings, dodging the ceiling fans like Indiana Jones in a boobytrapped temple. The prospect of an injured and confused bat in the house was fairly upsetting, so we quickly got the fans turned off and followed the noise to the bathroom. We peered into the dark. Nothing on the ceiling, nothing on the walls. And then we saw the little barn owl on the window sill. It saw us too, and hurtled out into the front room, ricocheted off two walls before shooting into our bedroom. It left a long streak of dark liquid on one of the walls.
Dane and I were at a complete loss. Fortunately, we live in the information age. Dane managed to get his iPod out of the bedroom without causing the poor owl to bounce of the walls more than two or three more times. We googled. We started to follow the directions:
1) Make a note of the location of the bird. Check! It's in our bed pooping on our white comforter.
2) If possible approach the bird from the rear. Not possible. The poor thing is cornered and is watching us like . . . an owl.
3) Carefully place a blanket, jacket, or any lightweight item over the bird. Dane got a towel from the bathroom.
4) Restrain the covered bird quickly by firmly grasping both legs. Use heavy gloves if possible. General laughter.
5) A CARDBOARD BOX IS THE SAFEST WAY TO TRANSPORT AN INJURED BIRD. Oh, good. We have lots of boxes.
I turned on the light, just long enough to determine that the liquid stuff on the wall was poop, not blood. We were relieved that the bird wasn't hurt . . . but it didn't make the task at hand any easier. I stalled by mopping the wall in the dark.
Finally, Dane picked up his towel, flourished it like a matador's cape, and stalked to the bedroom door. He poised on the threshold and sighed, "I really don't want to do this naked."
So, we retreated to the kitchen. We dug Dane's Taekwon-Do uniform out of the drier. We googled more. Finally we decided that our best bet was to let the owl get itself out of the house. We opened the front door and the front window. Now wearing thick canvas clothing, Dane sneaked into the bedroom and got that window open. The owl was plainly terrified, but it didn't try to fly around too much. Then we retreated to the kids' bedroom. I settled into Duncan's bed -- the quilt smelled terrible and I made a mental note to clean it -- while Dane laid on Tristan's bed. We listened to the owl scrabbling on the floor and the walls. The occasional car passed the house as neighbors farther up the creek headed to work. Finally the noises stopped and I drifted off to sleep . . . only coming partially to my senses when a passing car honked . . . perhaps a friend letting us know that our house was wide open and wildlife might get in?
When I woke up it was full daylight. The owl was gone and Dane was putting our sheets in the washer. I washed the wall again and went to work. Just another day in our crazy life, I suppose.
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