Later On

The Wife is the designated owl-watcher here, so each day I get a report of what Molly, McGee, Max, Pattison, Austin, and Wesley have been up to the night before. The babies, which we first met as limp balls of white fluff, are now pretty much owls, with their final coat of plumage—and a bunch of downy feathers still visible, which they pick out for all they’re worth. (It seems to be for owls what acne is for human adolescents.)

The owlets are starting to leave the owl box for little tiny test flights, after flapping their wings as much as they could in the confines of the owl box. (Three of the owlets would move into a corner, giving one room to flap his wings.)

Now that the babies are big, Molly doesn’t seem to spend any time in the box, though she still faithfully delivers food (rodents, rats, rabbits, etc.) and will cluck encouragingly from outside as the boys start to try to leave the box.

Leaving the box seems to occur in stages, and the owlets are doing it in order of age. First, there is much poking of the head out door to look around, sometimes two owlets at a time. Then standing on the edge of the door. Then (Big Step) stepping out of the box onto the ledge, which much wing-flapping can freely be done. Then hopping/flying to the next perch—and, of course, hopping/flying back. The next perch is close enough so that Max and Pattison, one on the next perch, the other at the door, could nibble at each other encouragingly.

Finally, Max flew to the top of the owl box and sat there for a while, then back.

Austin broke the pattern. He kept looking out the door at the other two, getting right at the edge of the door, then backing down. Finally, he backed off into the box and The Wife thought, “He’s going to make a running leap.” He stayed out of sight for a handful of seconds, then he came: a running leap it was, and he made it directly onto the next perch, where he settled after a certain amount of flailing.

Here’s the odd emotion: We (well, The Wife and hundreds of thousands of others) have watched the babies hatch and grow up, and we’ve seen how Molly and McGee take care of them—and continue to care for them as they start to leave the nest, bringing them food, clucking encouragement, and probably teaching them something of how to hunt.

But we realize that these owls are almost grown, and that one day Max will fly away from the box and he will not come back. No goodbyes, no promises to write, no indication that it’s farewell: just another practice flight, only this time he keeps flying.

It’s such an odd sensation, to see the family grow up and then depart from each other without a word. McGee and Molly will stay together, of course: owls bond in their mating. But the boys will be off and on their own, just flying away one day and not coming back.

Very odd feeling.