Monday morning. Do you remember that on Sunday night I said I was done? …But?
I open the back door and listen. I hear one voice squawking in the distance. One voice not two. Squawking. Sounds like it is coming from the marsh towards the tall pines island. My interpretation? Little one in the marsh. I said last night I would not intervene anymore. This morning? Tide coming in…
Does the squawk sound distressed or just hungry? Vulnerable? Not going to do it. NOT going out there again, in the rain, at dawn. Not going. Not. Going. The tide is coming in. OK, I’ll just put my rain coat on over my pajamas, and walk out our dock to check the accuracy of our tide clock. Yep, tide still rushing in, two hours to full high tide.
Walking back to the house, listening, looking, – something seems out of place near the easement marsh border. What is that? Go get binoculars and camera (Duh. Should have taken them in the first place. )
Scott is at work already, trying to earn enough money to support the owlets. (See earlier post: Owlets are Expensive!) Dad and I discuss. Our conclusion: Can’t leave it in marsh. Not safe.
Research on whether owls can swim is inconclusive. I am pretty sure this is MiniMe. No sign or squawk from Happy Feet or as Nancy is now calling him, Big Foot. The smaller of the two owlets is about three days behind in development from its larger sibling. In the earlier photos, MiniMe is always the one tucked in behind HF (aka Twinkle Toes).
Besides, there was a long thought process, gut check and discussion of the pros and cons of more human intervention. Plus, I needed coffee. After all, we had two hours before the tide would overtake the log MM was standing on. Why rush?
So Dad and I head out with rain gear, boots, the box, the blanket, and the gloves. And yes, this is in fact MiniMe. Closer inspection of the situation confirmed our decision that another rescue was warranted or justified or just seemed like the right thing to do really.
MiniMe knows the drill: Blue blanket over head. Red gloves tuck in wings, talons scramble, try to find purchase, loud clacking with occasional hissing and soft human cooing voice, walking, held out in space, not going in box this time. I have a firm grip and reason that it will be better for all of us if I carry it to a safer location in a tree.
Dad and I have already selected a slanted, reachable without a ladder, Live Oak tree in Don Juan’s yard which is between the tall pines island and our garden. Take photos.
Retrieve blanket. Walk back to house. Mobbing in tree on border of our property on the other side, high up. Owl. Take photo. Enlarge.
It’s BIG FOOT!!!! So, so happy he made it through the night and did not drown in the marsh. I go back to get MiniMe. She is not happy that I have the blanket and gloves again. I am convinced she will be better off next to Big Sib, or at least closer.
MiniMe clearly sees her Big Sib higher up in the next tree over. MM is now in a neighboring Live Oak tree next to the one Happy Feet is in. HF can obviously fly/climb/walk to MM’s tree; we are not sure about the vice versa. We have no idea how or when Happy Feet, alias Big Sib, aka Big Foot, got there. But there it was. Watching and not saying anything about MM’s big adventure.
Everyday I think it is the last time for the red gloves.