The Evil Owl

I saw the Great Horned Owl again at dusk as I was standing near the river. It swooped in a half circle and landed on a branch at the top of a cottonwood tree. All I saw was the edge of one huge, dark wing in silhouette, but what else could it be? Then it said, “Hoo hoooo ooooo oooo . . .” as if to remind me that I was planning to write about it.
According to "A Field Guide To Western Birds," it’s called the cat owl and is the only owl with ear tufts. It has a resonant series of three to eight hoots. Males hoot four or five times, so maybe it was a male. Females hoot six to eight times in a lower pitch.
These birds of prey like streamsides, deserts, cliffs and canyons, which we have in abundance, and use abandoned nests or make their homes in cliffs, trees, or even on the ground. I found an excellent drawing of the Great Horned Owl in Mother’s old edition of "Birds of America," a large, illustrated volume that Dad gave her for her 26th birthday in June of 1942. I wish I could use this drawing on my blog, but where would I get permission? The artist has taken great care to portray the owl with dignity and grace. Its cat-like yellow eyes are framed on both sides by half circles of russet plumage, and its breast is a cascade of horizontal brown and white bars. (The owl pictured is from Owl TV, with permission of the producer.)

In "Birds of America," George Gladden says this owl was called “Tiger of the Air” because this “big bird is courageous, powerful and bloodthirsty.”
Bloodthirsty? They have to eat, too, don’t they?

“That he is highly destructive must also be conceded, for it has been demonstrated beyond question of a doubt not only that he is bold, persistent and generally successful in his raids upon domestic poultry of all kinds, but that he is highly skillful and deadly in his pursuit of game birds, song birds, rabbits and squirrels,” says George.
He goes on, “The tiger comparison applies well to the Owl’s manner of hunting, for the sweep of his great wings in the silent air is as noiseless as the tread of the big cat’s padded feet upon the soft earth. Through the woods and over the meadows he glides silently as a shadow . . . To the poultry-farmer this Owl is a veritable terror . . . one instance is recorded of the loss by a farmer of fifty-nine young Guinea-fowl, taken in a single autumn by the same Owl.”
George also mentions the “oot-too-hoo, hoo-hoo” and compares the rhythm of it to a locomotive whistle at a crossing. “Usually the cry, like that of most Owls and of the night-birds generally, has an uncanny and weird significance, in which are blended distinct suggestions of threat, defiance, and scorn, as befits the fearless and savage nature of this veritable ‘tiger of the air.’”
Oh come on, George. Significance? Like a Rorschach test? I doubt that the owl has much feeling for human beings beyond a healthy fear of being shot. Though it doesn’t sound as if the farmer was able to pull that one off. Dare I suggest a pen topped with wire? As for the owl’s “savage nature,” I suspect that the Guinea-fowls the owl didn’t nail were beheaded, plucked and roasted and ended up on the plate of some bloodthirsty savage. I’ll bet they were tasty, too.

Nowadays, when so few of us keep chickens, the owl’s distinctive cry is a novelty. Or it can be chilling. When I was losing ground with a strange illness a few years ago, I shuddered when I heard the owl outside my window. But my daughter said, “Nonsense! Tell it to go hoot hoo somewhere else.”
I have probable cause to bear the owl a grudge. Molly, my tortoise shell cat, used to slip outside at dusk to hunt. I let her go because she’s smart and watchful and usually stays close to the house. We have coyotes around, so I keep a ladder leaning up against the wall and sometimes find Molly up on the roof. The flapping wings of the Great Horned Owl make no sound; it might have swooped down and caught her unaware. The deep, infected puncture wound in the side of her neck cost me $123 in vet bills. I don’t resent the owl, but now I keep Molly in at night.

In “Birds . . .” Doctor A.K. Fisher reports: “The large handsome Great Horned Owl is found throughout the United States everywhere suitable timber exists for its habitation. It is a voracious bird, and its capacity for good or evil is very great.”
Time out! We need a second opinion here. Evil is a human concept, not one that exists in nature. All of nature is innocent. But wait a minute! Aren’t we part of nature, too?
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!” said a once popular radio show. A relative once remarked that volcanoes are evil. And some of my friends consider jet trails evil. And many might justifiably argue that Hitler was evil.

Webster’s dictionary defines evil as “immorally wrong or bad.” But nature knows no morals. Nature is all and only about balance. Another Webster definition of evil is: “The force in nature that governs and gives rise to wickedness and sin.” On many a volcanic island, the God’s were invoked for protection every time the volcano began to shoot fire. The naives thought it was because they had been bad. Prayers were an understandable attempt to gain control over wild nature.
Back to “Birds . . .” Doctor Fisher concedes that, “If the more thickly settled districts where poultry is extensively raised could be passed by and the bird considered only as it appears in the great West, it would earn a secure place among the beneficial species, for it is an important ally of the ranchman infighting the hordes of ground squirrels and other rodents which infest his fields and ranges . . . Undoubtedly rabbits are its favorite food.” (Note: the “ground squirrels” – i.e. prairie dogs—and rodents don’t just inhabit the field—they “infest” it.)
He examines the stomach content of a Great Horned Owls and finds “three species of rabbits, cotton rat, two species of pouched gophers, two species of wood rats, chipmunk, two species of grasshopper mice, Harris ground squirrel, musk rats, fox squirrels, five species of meadow mice, one short-tailed shrew, the house mouse, common rat, black bat, red-backed mouse, flying squirrel, shrew and kangaroo rat.” (Not all one meal, I assume.) It also eats scorpions, crawfish, grasshoppers, beetles and fish. He rightly concludes that, “The Great Horned Owl does a vast amount of good, and, if farmers would shut up their chickens at night instead of allowing them to roost in trees and other exposed places, the principal damage done by the bird would be prevented.”

In other words, if the Great Horned Owl ceased his evil ways and became “beneficial”, i.e. man’s ally, it would be considered a force for good. But if it competes with us for resources or gets in our way, it’s evil.
Although the Great Horned Owl’s evening “Hoooo hooooo” sometimes gives me chills, I’m glad I live in the “great West” where many diverse forms of life strive to keep each other in balance. By watching how they do it, maybe one day I can borrow a page from the book of nature and learn how to keep my own life in balance.