Rendezvous
F.G. Baker

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo!” Said the owl as he sat high in the cottonwood tree that dominated this part of his domain. It had just turned dark and he signaled his territory to any who might accidentally intrude.

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”

He looked through the dark, cold air at the ground and nearby shrubs. He could not see anything moving, even with his penetrating gaze. He though he heard a rustle of grass below him near the stream bank. He looked down to better focus his acute senses. No, no. It was just the wind plying through the late autumn blades. He stared at the stream bank with care. There had been a rodent there earlier, but alas he had not had the advantage of surprise.

He had been sitting in this tree much of the afternoon, hunting in his silent way until, just before dark he had seen a rat crawl carefully up the opposite bank to nibble on some seeds that had fallen to the earth. He had watched the animal as it raised its little head to search for signs of danger. Seeing none, it basked in the late-day sun for a few minutes apparently sated enough to make it through the next few hours before it crawled away for a well-deserved rest in its burrow in the stream bank.

He watched the rat soundlessly and went through the usual preparations for a dive. He saw the rat begin to get nervous from the sixth sense it must have in order to stay alive to such an age. The sun went down behind the low hill that lies at the western edge of the owl’s terrain. The rat moved along the bank toward and area of bare earth, where it had carved out its home. It did not enter the premises immediately but instead lay down on the warm dirt to rest. It wanted to enjoy the last few minutes of sunny warm that radiated up from the earth. It felt safe here near to its burrow as darkness fell.

The owl launched silently from his bower and drifted toward the rodent on silent, feathery wings. He had no need to flap his wings. He did not tuck as many predators do. Speed was not the key to his style of flight. His silent glide in the still night air delivered him effortlessly to the burrow. It was only at the last moment that the rat felt that sixth sense again and he opened his eyes to see a shadow become large. He just began to rise when he felt the sharp talons dig into his thick skin.

The owl folded his wings and set his hook-like beak into the throat of the rat, feeling the pulse of blood released by the cut. He repeated the cuts until the rat gave up its thrashing. Then he tore off legs and chunks of skin to ingest until the remnants were small enough to swallow. Then in one fell gulp he ate the rest of it. It took some time to work down his throat and into his stomach. He sat still while his muscles did their job. He blinked and swiveled his head just to be sure he was alone.

He flew back to his perch now and let the meal settle in for the long night. It had been good this day. He had tried five different locations before coming to this, his favorite tree. The cottonwood rose higher than the surrounding woods. He had a nice view of everything, the mesa, the stream, even the river valley to the north. He knew this area in great detail. It was his home where he had been hatched and where he had hunted for the last two seasons. It was his winter range now and where he knew greatest peace. No animal threatened him here. No hawks or eagles bothered him.

Only the pesky crows were a nuisance to his quietude. They were the bane of his existence with their incessant noise. It had always been this way. Since he was little the black beasts had been the harpies of discontent in the neighborhood. They swarmed around his parents when he was young. He had inherited them with the land, even though new ones came and went as the months passed by. They were now just a nuisance that came to bother him whenever it took their fancy as the neighborhood watch. He had learned to ignore them and only respond if they got too close. In time they grew tired of the harassment and would leave. Then he would quietly reposition to a new undiscovered locale for his hunt.

Now as the evening became true, dark night, he positioned on a high branch of the tree where he could see far and wide. And he sang his simple song.

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”

At the end of each phrase, he would listen like a sailor lost at sea sending out an SOS, or someone on a dead telephone line waiting to hear a voice on the other end.

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo!”

He listened carefully. He knew that he would sometimes hear the distant hoots of a fellow Great Horned owl in nearby ranges. That was alright. They were his neighbors and sometimes companionable birds of his kind. Some migrated through his territory on their way to seasonal ranges. Some were just curious who he was. Only rarely was there any animosity as to who belonged to this landscape. It had been a long time since his brother had shared the land with him. He missed the comradery of his nest mate. He was gone now, lost one night long ago. And his parents had moved on shortly after teaching him all that they knew.

Now he sat each night at this time of year waiting away the nights and months until spring returned. He hooted each night and sometimes had visits from neighbors. They would have a friendly chat, hooting back and forth from nearby trees to while away the darkness.

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo!”
***
On it went until the days became longer and the night began to warm as the seasons stretched into springtime. Food became abundant again and the lean months of winter were no more. The grass and leaves turned green. Birds that had fled south for the cold months returned and built nests. His land came alive with life and color that he had missed for so long.

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo!”

He had hunted successfully early in the night and now sat on his favorite limb, waiting. He called out into the night. He heard many sounds, some near and some far. But he did not hear the sound that he longed for the most. But still he called out in the night air.

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo!”

Then he thought he heard something new. “Hoo-Hoo, hoo!”

It was a voice he did not recognize. It was a higher pitch than his own. He had not heard this owl before. Still he called out. And he heard it again and again.

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo!”

It was closer now, within his territory, a new bird of his species. It did not sound threatening. It sounded rather pleasant. He stood taller as he listened, feathers tense, tail up. He called back.

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”

“Hoo-Hoo, hoo!” And a beautiful Great Horned owl settled onto a branch of the tree not thirty feet away from him. He looked carefully at this intruder, a little bigger in size and of a distinctive style. She was a female. She rotated her head to look at him and said. “Hoo-Hoo, hoo!”

He stretched his body to its full height and replied gently. “Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo!”

She flew closer and settled on the limb close to him. And that was the end of his loneliness.
“Hoo-Hoo, hoo-hoo-hoo!”