I Heard The Owl Call My Name

When I was in college, I read a book entitled, “I Heard The Owl Call My Name” for a course on cross-cultural communication. How 70s! It was about a young Anglican vicar assigned as a missionary to indigenous people in Canada. He learned about the culture of his parishioners, including a belief that hearing the owl call one’s name was a warning of imminent death.

So we have been hearing an owl every night. I told my wife about the book. She says it is not calling either of our names. It is just hooting.

Today, Sugar invited me to go on a walk with her for the purpose of finding the owl so she could take its photograph. As you are aware, owls are nocturnal creatures. I was not optimistic. I kept that to myself since Sugar had a destination. She thought she knew where it hangs out during the day. So we set off across the bridge to the woods beyond.


When I say “we” set off, I should explain that Sugar and I were accompanied by two dogs and even two cats. Our cats, who live outside and in the barn and never ever have been in the house, are not exactly “feral.” They follow us around whenever we are outside. They go far with us. Miles. Some people put their cats on leashes. Ours go off leash. They “heel.”

Within twenty minutes, we all went under a tree and the owl launched itself off a branch and flew to another cluster of trees. Sugar had been correct about where to find it. Still, she needed me, “old eagle eye” (pardon the expression) as you will soon “see” (pardon the pun). I spied where it landed. The owl and I stared at each other as I held my position and quietly instructed Sugar to point her camera to where I was looking. She did, so thanks to me, me, me, you folks reading this illustrated post can see what we saw and save yourselves the hike.

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