Where Have All the Owls Gone?

Gone from Our Yard, Every One

Owls. Majestic. Mysterious. Mad at me?

This tale of wonder, woe, and redemption begins the night of January 6, 2022. In my (possibly embellished) memory, the scene was idyllic beyond Norman Rockwell’s wildest dreaming. A heavy snow was falling. The fireplace crackled, orange light dancing on the walls. Winter spices were rich in the air—cinnamon, nutmeg, clove. Upstairs, the boys were tucked away, snoozing cherubs in our little paradise. My beautiful wife (not embellished) Alex was nestled in her sofa, writing fiction and sipping from a steaming mug of mulled wine. I, the picture of charm, was busy nodding off in the most comfortable place in East Lansing, Michigan…

…when suddenly I was stirred by a ghostly voice.

Eastern Screech-Owl. A wave of adrenaline swept me from my chair. I found my boots and coat and slid the back door open as quietly as possible in my frantic state. The night was dark. He (or maybe she? I made a baseless assumption at the time and rolled with it) was near, perhaps at the edge of the woods, but I couldn’t see him. That was okay. I spent a long time listening to that mystical trill.

Eventually the dopamine subsided, giving way to bedtime’s gravitational pull. I, diurnal mammal, retired for the night, desperately hoping the nocturnal bird would return. I had heard Screech-Owls before. I had yet to lay eyes on one.

Sure enough, my hopes were answered at twilight the next day. This was long before I had a fancy lens, but my phone captured him perched above our next-door neighbor’s house.

This was no foul owl. He was gorgeous. Adorable too. I had read about Screech-Owls before. I knew they weren’t large, but no field guide could prepare me for how small they truly are—not even the size of a American Robin. Such ruthless killers should be bigger, brutish, not chunky and cute. A rodent’s dying cry should be “Ahhh!” not “Awww!”

Nor was I prepared for the charisma. I was able to observe him almost nightly, and he never shied away. Eventually we began a game of call and answer. He would trill, I’d whistle a trill back, and so it would go, back and forth, until he got bored or I cold. I don’t know if he had been acclimated to humans already, but never had I felt so connected to a bird. We had an understanding, and when it became clear he was there to stay, we affectionately named him (her?) Horatio. Eventually I ceased our nightly repartee, fearing it could somehow interfere with finding a mate. I don’t think he ever managed to attract one, but during our dwindling time in Michigan, he was our steady companion.

I couldn’t know it at the time, but Horatio’s appearance was the start of a damned good owl year. In February, my species count reached six, including local regulars Great Horned and Barred, a pair of Snowys, and lifers Short-eared and Long-eared. Central Michigan, it seemed, was lousy with owls.

Owls who deserved a better photographer. In the gallery that follows, I identify each species and assign its photo the merited rating.

Great Horned Owl, 0/5

Barred Owl, 0/5

Snowy Owl, 0/5

Short-eared Owl, 0/5

Long-eared Owl, 0/5

That embarrasment of owl riches was exhilarating, but nothing could match the bond we had with Horatio. Alas, it couldn’t last. June 10th was the last time I reported him on eBird. Our home was sold. A new one awaited. In August, Pennsylvania-bound, we said goodbye for good.

Though the birds and birding community of Ingham County tugged at me, Pittsburgh welcomed us with open arms and owls too. Hearing a Great Horned the first night in our new home was unforgettable, but I confess I was more excited when a pair of Screech-Owls announced themselves in the weeks thereafter. Moving is never easy, but the neighborhood owls made for the best welcoming committee.

Once again, whinnies and trills were the soundtrack of our nights, but this time the call and answer was strictly owl to owl. I didn’t know where they were nesting. I didn’t need to. I let their courtship evolve in peace without sticking my sizeable Armenian beak in their business. In a nod to Pee-wee’s Playhouse’s zestiest romance, we named the couple Captain Carl and Miss Yvonne and toasted their union. With luck, there would be owlets come spring.

Tough as it was to leave Michigan, birders have a built-in coping mechanism that takes some of the sting out of moving—we get to start a new list, whether it be yard, county, or state (in my case all three). I wasted no time, and my lists grew fast. A lot of that early birdwatching was around the house, but I was exploring the local hotspots too, and the more I experienced the birding scene in Allegheny County, the more apparent it became that owls were going to be tougher to track down. Our yard owls were a reliable presence though. On any given night there was a chance of hearing one or both of them.

Then, in July, tragedy struck.

I don’t know what killed this Screech-Owl, which I found in a neighbor’s yard. I also don’t know if it was Captain Carl or Miss Yvonne, but I’m sure it was one of them. Did it have a run-in with a predator? Was there a collision? Did its prey have rodenticide in its system? I probably should have collected the poor bird and looked into a wildlife pathology lab, but it was already so badly decomposed and full of wriggling things, I didn’t have the stomach.

Heartbreaking, but for whom? Certainly for me. I can’t imagine what its companion was going through. Do owls feel sadness? Do they grieve? Eastern Screech-Owls usually mate for life. They’re also known to return to previous nest sites. Attachment seems part of their MO. Detachment so swift and final must come with its share of pain. While I imagine wildlife is better prepared for sudden loss than humans, better prepared to get on with the business of survival and propagation, I also think we underestimate the complexity of animal emotions. Presumably the bereaved bird sought out a new mate, but I do wonder what it went through in death’s aftermath.

I certainly mourned, though the Great Horneds were a comfort, as was our surviving Screech-Owl, who kept trilling away…until December. December 16th was the last time I heard it. That was the last time I heard or saw any owl, with one major exception (see Featured Photo below).

Aside from that—zilch, and here’s where I get complainy. I’m sick of not seeing owls. I’ve chased them, to no avail. I’ve gone owling and come up empty. Hell, since moving here I have yet to see a single Barred freaking Owl, commonest of the common. I miss owls. I miss them and I want them back again. Here. In our yard. I’m not saying owls owe me anything, yet I can’t help feeling somehow rebuffed. For what crime, I do not know, but I’m officially getting antsy. Ten months is a long time not to see an owl!

I know, I know—bitching about it isn’t going to help.

But this might.

Available—Furnished studio apartment. Ready for immediate move in. No deposit required.

A plain cedar box may lack some Rockwellian charm, but it is cozy. There’s no wood-burning fireplace, but a bed of wood shavings has been added for comfort, a perfect place for Screech-Owls to repose and, I hope, lay some eggs.

Time for the owls and I to reconcile.

As of publication, we still have a vacancy. Stay tuned for Screech-Owl updates!

Featured Photo - Eastern Screech-Owl

Eastern Screech-Owl, ?/5. I feel weird giving myself a favorable rating.

This is the lone owl I’ve seen this year and the only owl I’ve managed to capture with my Sigma lens. This known nesting site overlooks a trail at Frick Park in Pittsburgh, and I found its occupant looking grumpy but resigned to some company. No matter how often I revisit these shots, I’m awed by how the owl’s magnificence is perfectly reflected in the tree. And what a tree! The cavity, the color, the gnarled way it frames the bird—it all seems tailored for this owl in particular.

I hiked the trail a few weeks ago but found the hole empty. The owls continue to elude me.

10/10 Recommends

Veteranhealing

The owner of Veteranhealing uses woodworking as a way to treat PTSD. I, who lack even rudimentary woodworking skills, was delighted to find his Etsy shop. His handmade owl boxes are sturdy and reasonably priced, and they come with a bag of wood shavings and hardware for installation. The package arrived days after ordering, and handy instructions on how to hang the box came via email 🪚 🔨 🦉 🏠

Colorflock

Need more gift ideas? My Twitter mutual Cameron Archer is a gifted artist who draws beautiful birds, including owls! You can purchase his designs in mug, t-shirt, sweatshirt, and poster form, and you can feel good doing it—half of Colorflock’s profits go to organizations dedicated to bird conservation! 🎨 🖌️ 🦉

That’s all for this week. Do you have any owl tales you’d like to tell? If so, leave 'em in the comments.

Until next time, bird your ass off!

nwb