"I have been studying the traits and dispositions of the "lower animals" (so called) and contrasting them with the traits and dispositions of man. I find the result humiliating to me."~Mark Twain, Letters from the Earth, 1907

"Kirby" relaxing by the fire.   Photo and Story by Dona Tracy

You can take the owl out of the wild but you can’t take the wild out of the owl

This is a story about a little 'ghost', named Kirby. Well, she wasn’t really a ghost but she was named after those sophisticated ghosts, George and Marian Kirby, in the old Topper movies. And, it seemed appropriate since barn owls are often mistaken as ghosts, given their habit of nesting in old unlit abandoned buildings, silent flight (which often appears as a white shape floating by) and blood curdling screams.

When our little ‘ghost’ arrived, she was newly hatched, suffering from exposure and a badly injured. The rest of her nest mates (some were not  yet out of their shells) had perished in a fall from the top of a silo. It was a worrisome touch and go for weeks for this little Barn Owl but she was determined to live and somehow the little trooper survived.

We attempted to find a wild nest or foster parents for her but since none were available, we raised her ourselves and soon, she became a member of the family. A bossy little member at that.

She would insist on being the first on line to any freshly filled water bowl for a drink or, if she was in the mood, a nice long leisurely floor-soaking bath while our dogs Max and Major were forced to watch and wait their turns. Which they did because, after all, Kirby ruled the roost and there was no question who was in charge.

She loved to play practical jokes, particularly on Max who was, understandably, afraid of her. She hid his toys, made surprise attacks on his tail and would emerge out of nowhere just to get a rise out of him. Then she'd fly off chuckling all the way to her favorite roost on top of the family heirloom, a grandfather clock.

Her treatment of Major was completely different. Major was, for all intensive purposes, her foster mother. After all, he had pretty much raised her from a baby, was her nursemaid, champion and protector. These two had, what I can only describe as, a canine-owl bond.

Even though Kirby was imprinted to us (and perhaps our Collie) and could not be released to the wild she brought her wild instincts with her and completely enriched all of our lives. Just observing her grow from a helpless little chick to a self-sufficient adult was, in itself, completely awesome.

One of our favorite things was watching her little face change from, what might be best described as, a combination of a vulture and lamb to the beautiful recognizable heart-shaped face of a barn owl. As the tiny feathers around her face emerged they actually picked up the skin around her ears and face forming what is called a facial disk. This facial disk acts like a little satellite dish providing a barn owl with its greatest sense, hearing. In scientific studies barn owls were able to catch and kill their prey in total darkness using just their hearing alone.

But, to me, the most beautiful things were these tiny gold feathers, each with its only teensy black dot in the center, so small that we were never able to find one that had fallen out.

At about three years old, Kirby began to lay eggs which didn’t hatch, of course, since she was without a mate. But, she would sit on them (up to 7 eggs laid in approximate two day intervals) anyway until their expected hatching time ran out then she would throw up her talons and walk away.

We always knew when she was in the nesting mode, because she would fly about the house to explore any and every crevice or hole she could find, even vertically stored toilet paper rolls were fully inspected as potential nest sites.

One summer after she had, once again, unsuccessfully hatched her eggs and given up on motherhood, a brood of five orphaned baby barn owls (one with an injured leg) arrived. It is always the best thing for young wildlife to be raised by their own kind, not humans, if they are to have any chance at wild survival and our hope was to return these little owlets to the wild. So, we decided to give it a try.

We put the little owlets in a cage overnight in Kirby’s room to allow her to ‘get used’ to them. But we really didn’t know if she would allow such an intrusion in her territory and worse yet, might see them simply as food!

In the morning, to my horror, I found that Kirby had broken to their cage and at first glance no little owls could be seen. My heart sank. But, it was immediately lifted when I picked her up. Underneath were five warm but hungry little babes and in my hands, an impatient mother owl… “Got mice?” Not only did she keep them warm and fed but she nursed the little injured one back to health. She would actually prop him up under her wing until he could stand on his own.

Kirby proved to be an exemplary nurturing and devoted foster mom. She may have been raised by humans but all of her mothering instincts were completely intact. All of Kirby’s ‘kids’ have been to be released to the wild from whence they came.

When Kirby wasn’t on maternity leave, she was ‘employed’ as a teacher at the Hudson Valley Raptor Center. Each year she visited schools and groups from New York, New Jersey, Connecticut and Massachusetts.

I miss her.