Weeknight Screeching

It is what it is, and what it is is not much weekend birding, a proper morning of crappy fast food breakfast and day lists pushing 100. Instead it's stealing out fora  few hours on a Tuesday to see what Owls might be poking around (not Elf Owls, with the recent cold front, dammit) and how many times one might be almost-trampled by the feral horses along the Salt River.




Western Screech-Owls might not have the majesty nor the accommodating gifts of the Humboldt County Great Gray--in fact, they lose out to that bird in every department except maybe for "Best Owl to Sneak Home in One's Cargo Shorts," but hey it's only 4 weeks until school it out, and much like the shade of Voldemort ghosting through the woods feeding on unicorn's blood (is that an obscure reference yet?) the Salt River Owls will keep me alive.

My buddy Will joined me for this particular foray, and while the Owl selfie game still needs work, out teamwork did prevent us from falling victim to the unpleasant and unwashed busybody guy that followed us around for a little while, more I think out of boredom and loneliness than genuine masculine attraction (although, you know, a bit of that).

Western Screech-Owl, showing its bloomers.