Screech Owls: Watchfulness, Life and Eventual Death

Saturday evening I spotted a baby owl on the ground at the foot of a tree on the other side of our driveway. At first, I had little idea what kind of creature this was. Eventually I’d see the mother of this baby critter up in a branch with very watchful eyes. She was obviously an owl of some sort, which meant the fuzzy little ball on the ground was also an owl of some sort.

He wasn’t able to fly much, except to flap his wings and propel himself forward a bit. Worried about cats in the area I was hopeful he’d be able to return to his perch, or wherever he’d fallen from. It didn’t seem likely though.

About an hour passed - with me checking on him periodically - and he ended up back in a tree about 3 feet up in the crook of a tree. He appeared to be climbing and I felt relief that he’d be safe. Mom flew from her prior perch in another tree to the tree he was now climbing. I went to bed feeling all would be well with him.

Thoughts of a parent’s care and watchful eye ran through my mind most of the rest of the evening. She was concerned for her offspring. I’ve never encountered an owl, but I strongly suspected that any movement toward her youngster would likely result in my head being bloodied. I dared not approach him. She knew what was best for him. I had no idea. I barely had a clue about my own offspring so I knew I was no match for the wisdom of an owl.

Sunday afternoon I noticed him on the ground again. He appeared no different than the day before. Again, there was mom perched above watching. Staring at me. At him. Surveying the possible threat. As he hopped and flapped toward another tree I got the impression that he knew what she wanted him to do. I left him alone. Later, I came back and saw him no where. I assumed she had taken care of him somehow. I wasn’t worried.

I couldn’t help but think of her and him - and wondering how a bird falls from his perch, and how likely it is that something bad, like a neighborhood cat, will happen to them. I’ve attempted to rescue a number of fallen baby birds in my life. I confess I’ve never succeeded. They have all died. And I’ve always been sad. For days afterward. And thought of all the fallen sparrows and other birds that God has seen. I’ve wondered how vast the count may be of fallen birds since creation. Odd, I know. But who can tell why a mind thinks what it does. Mine especially.

Yesterday, Memorial Day Monday, I saw the baby owl back on the ground in the same general area. His movements were not as pronounced as before. I figured he was being overly cautious. Mom was again in the same perch - on the exact same branch, in the same location as before. She didn’t take her eyes off of me. It was daylight and not nearing dusk, as it had been on the two prior days. Knowing owls are night creatures I figured vision might be tough for both mom and baby. Perhaps that explained his lack of movement. He was simply standing there looking toward me with his eyes closed. Mom’s eyes weren’t visible, but her head was clearly aimed directly at me. I didn’t approach the baby and left to hit the gym for a workout.

About 90 minutes later I returned in the early afternoon. The baby owl had made it across the driveway to my house and hopped onto the front porch, which is ground level. Others at my house noticed him and had attempted to give him some water. He simply stood there refusing. We got a cardboard box, carefully placed him inside and I got a clean eye dropper attempting to drop some water around his beak to see if he’d take any. He didn’t. But he seems okay.

Clueless about what to do with him and worried that this was happening on a national holiday, we Googled for somebody to call. I called a local zoo who gave me a phone number of a wildlife rescue organization. No answer due to the holiday. We then found the name of a man in the area who rescues birds. I called him - it was his home number. He was very nice and asked me to look at the bird’s chest. “Are there horizontal bars?” he asked. I looked and sure enough, there were. “He’s a baby screech owl. Keep him in the box. Put a towel int he box so he can grab it, otherwise he’ll slide around. Keep him in a warm, dark place and in the morning take him to the Southlake Animal Hospital. They’re near you, much closer than I am, and they rescue birds, too. Don’t be surprised if you check on him in the morning and he’s dead. He may be sick.”

I did exactly as I was instructed and hoped we’d all make it through the night. I carried the box out to the back deck under the covered patio. I turned the ceiling fan on very low - it was about 95 degrees. I closed the three of the four flaps on the box to keep it dark.

I kept watching him because I was now worried about his chances. I knew my odds of success with fallen birds was 100% - failure. Something told me this poor screech owl had fallen into the wrong hands - mine.

Within 15 minutes he was gone. He simply laid over and was gone. Upright one second. Over on his side the next. Sadness swept over me as though I had lost a longtime pet. I never wanted him for my own. I never wanted him in a box or a cage. I wanted him back in the tree with his watchful mother. From the time I noticed him on my porch until now, I had not seen her. I felt badly for her, and her baby. It was an awful feeling of helplessness. And sadness. Even grief.

For the better part of 3 days this baby had been on the ground and managed to avoid cats and other dangers. But in my hands, death had come. No, I don’t feel like I killed him, but I was sad that it had to happen on my watch. I let him down. I let his mother down. I couldn’t stop it. No phone calls or other advice would enable me to prevent his demise.

We buried him in our backyard, wrapped in the towel that occupied the box with his last moments, the one he was laying on when he died. Life is precious. Even baby screech owls deserve better. I don’t know how old he was. I don’t even know how old adult screech owls live. I read that they mate for life and will only seek another mate if their mate is lost. Pairs often revisit past nests. They don’t build nests. They use tree cavities and are open to using nesting boxes.

Today, I purchased a screech owl house from Coveside Bird House. It cost me about fifty bucks. It’s supposed to be mounted under a branch about 10-30 feet off the ground, facing north. I don’t know if I’ll ever see another screech owl, but I’m hoping to attract the baby screech owl’s mom and dad. And I hope any future offspring they may have will be much safer inside this owl house than in the cavity of a tree where they’re likely to fall.

My telephone adviser told me, “They don’t like to go to ground.” They know the risk of leaving the home too soon. My children are grown and married, but I still worry about them. It’s a different worry than when they were young. But I know well the dangers of leaving the nest or home too soon. I wanted my youngsters prepared for the adult world. Thankfully, they’ve made it successfully so far. I wish this little owl had been given a better chance to grow up.

The fragility of life consumed me for a few hours after he died. Thoughts of his mother and her vigilant watch stayed with me, until now. I know as humans we tend to confer our emotions and thoughts onto creatures. Animals don’t have the emotions of people. I suppose not. I hope not. For their sake. Whether she’s sad today or not, I don’t know. I only know I’m still sad enough for both of us. And hopeful that her next home will be my owl house. My small way of telling her how sorry I am that I wasn’t able to save her baby.

This is what her baby might have looked like as an adult.