Whoooo knew
My daughter Erica has been enamored of owls for a couple of years.
When owls -- as in stuffed animals, decorating items, jewelry, and art -- became a hot item in the marketplace, she realized she'd loved them all along.
Apparently hundreds of thousands of others reached the same conclusion at the same time, because still, everywhere you look, the owl as a motif is available in every conceivable iteration.
Now, Erica had always been (and still is) a butterfly girl. She's got a butterfly clock and a butterfly lamp and a butterfly necklace and a butterfly barrette and, I believe, even a pair of butterfly flip-flops.
But she added owls to her repertoire and naturally when we'd see them at gift-buying time, where once we'd have been on the lookout for butterflies, we'd choose an owl something or other.
Her squeals of delight upon opening said gift told us we we'd hit the nail square on the head.
Happy happy happy.
Consequently she owns an owl mug, a set of orange cast-iron owl coasters, a brass owl hook, and a stuffed owl.
She wears owl necklaces. Owl jewelry figures large in her Etsy shop.
Maybe you're wondering at this point how much more boring this post can get, but I promise you, excitement is just around the bend.
Stay with me. But watch your head.
As we frequently do, Erica and I were taking a late-night walk in our neighborhood last Friday. It was about ten o'clock when we set out down the street.
Our neighborhood is extremely quiet. It is a large, older subdivision with thousands of mature trees. Still, nary a leaf rustles after ten. Car traffic is virtually nil.
One thing we do frequently hear is an owl that lives in the vicinity. He calls repeatedly (establishing territorial boundaries, I'm told) in that haunting spooky way they have.
Very autumnal, even when heard in summer.
But we've never laid eyes on him; we've only listened to him.
At any rate, nighttime is a wonderful time to walk. No hot sun and nobody to notice that you're not wearing makeup and you've just scraped your hair back willy-nilly and, due to the excessive humidity, you are glistening with perspiration.
We'd walked at least a mile last Friday night and were in fact on our way back, not far from the comforts of home, when it happened.
What happened? I can hear you thinking, or maybe even saying aloud to your computer screen.
Well, I will tell you. What happened is, suddenly and without warning, something hit me on the back of the head.
Hit me so hard, it knocked my hair clip loose and sent great masses of my hair flying forward where it then hung over my forehead.
I wear my hair a little longer than jaw length and I have lots of hair, and for it to become dislodged to where what was hanging down in back was now hanging down over my face, is a big deal.
"Erica!" I said. "Something just hit me on the back of the head!" I was more mystified than scared.
"Oh it was probably a cicada," she said.
?????
"Erica." I said. "This was not a cicada. It was something big and it hit me on the back of the head and nearly knocked my hair clip out!"
"Mom, cicadas feel bigger than they are when they hit you. One hit me the other day and I couldn't believe how big it felt," my oh-so-wise daughter counseled, addressing me the way one does when attempting to reassure an addlepated delusional.
But hey -- these hard-hitting cicadas she is referring to? They weigh all of a half-ounce when soaking wet and full of bananas. I don't care how "big" they feel to her; I knew that was NOT what hit me on the back of the head and disarranged my hair.
And then it hit me again. Harder this time but same place. Same result.
I clutched my hair clip in my hand. My hair was hanging in every direction -- over my face, in my mouth (because I gasped), in my eyes.
But this time Erica had seen what hit me.
And it wasn't a cicada. Not even one that had eaten his Wheaties. Nor was it an overzealous butterfly.
It was an owl.
A big one. Not like the cute little furry fellows with huge round eyes that stare sweetly at you out of stuffed animal faces or from awww-inspiring pictures on Pinterest.
This was an owl between twenty and thirty inches tall, with a wingspan of about four feet. A bird of prey. Like, with massive talons that could have put a gash in my scalp.
So you're walking for your health, armed with a million-volt stun gun lest a ne'er-do-well leap out from behind a tree, and you're dive-bombed by a raptor from up in a tree.
That's what you call owl-ronic.
Erica witnessed my attacker flying swiftly away after it beaned me the second time.
I, having a face full of hair and my head having been pushed forcefully down, never saw my assailant.
But I can tell you what I did see: Terror. As in, I do not remember ever being as scared as I was right after that owl hit me the second time and I saw not it, but the look on the face of the one who'd seen it.
She grabbed my arm and began pulling me fast down the street. We broke into a trot.
When I walk I carry a ZAPLight -- a powerful flashlight featuring the aforementioned built-in stun gun. Just in case.
As I cantered, gasping, toward the corner where we'd make the turn for home, Erica dragging me urgently, I shone my light behind me.
No owl approached.
But as we rounded the bend onto the street that intersects with our street, Erica looked back and saw the varmint gunning for me a third time.
It all happened very fast. The owl swooped and then, inexplicably, it changed direction and flew up into a tall pine where it perched on a branch.
I shone my light up there but in my adrenaline-fueled terror-spiked tizzy, saw nothing but pine needles.
Erica drew a bead on him, though: the owl waited, swiveling its big head to look down its beak at us.
We hotfooted it for the domicile.
"I think we're home free, Mom," Erica gasped every few minutes.
About the time my Reeboks hit our driveway, no owl in hot pursuit, I made a solemn vow and I pronounced it out loud:
I will never ever again as long as I live walk in our neighborhood after dark.
This is from someone who has walked in our neighborhood after dark hundreds of times. And usually alone.
No more.
As the giant advises Agent Cooper in Twin Peaks: The owls are not what they seem.
They seem harmless and lovable but they are devils, I tell you.
If you don't believe me, Google "owl attacks on humans." Oh and don't take a small dog out at night either.
Who knew.
And that is all for now.
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Happy Monday ~ Happy Week
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Reader Comments (4)
Thank goodness you weren't hurt! You could have been sliced and diced! They are known to be aggressive during nesting season, but that season should now be over.
Oh Jenny - this kind of thing could only happen to you. I have to admit that I have tears running down my face from laughing while reading this. I am glad you're ok though!
WOWWOWWOW!!!!!
Did your hairclip sparkle??? They LOVE sparkly things! Geeeez Girl! Hope you are alright!!
(((HUG)))
Oh wow! So glad you weren't hurt! Those talons are huge and sharp and dangerous!