Owls in the Family (5 page)

chapter 8

The banks of the Saskatchewan River were very steep where the river ran through the prairie to the south of Saskatoon; and about two miles downstream from the city was a perfect place for digging caves. Bruce and Murray and I had our summer headquarters down there, in an old cave some hobos had dug a long time ago. They had fixed it up with logs and pieces of wood so it wouldn’t collapse. You have to be careful of caves, because if they don’t have good strong logs to hold up the roof, the whole thing can fall down and kill you. This was a good cave we had, though; my Dad had even come there and looked it over to make sure it was safe for us.

It had a door made of a piece of tin-roofing, and there was a smokestack going up through the ceiling. Inside was a sort of bench where you could lie down, and we had two old butter-crates for chairs. We put dry hay down on the floor for a carpet, and under the hay there was a secret hole where we could hide anything that was specially valuable.

The river ran only a hop-skip-and-a-jump from the door of the cave. There was a big sand bar close by which made a backwater where the current was slow enough for swimming. Standing right beside the swimming hole was the biggest cottonwood tree in the whole of Saskatchewan. One of its branches stuck straight out over the water, and there were old marks on it where a rope had cut into the bark. An Indian who was being chased by the Mounties, a long, long time ago, was supposed to have hanged himself on that branch so the Mounties wouldn’t catch him alive.

We used to go to our cave a couple of times a week during the summer holidays, and usually we took the owls along. Wol had learned how to ride on the handle bars of my bicycle; but Weeps couldn’t keep his balance there, so we built a kind of box for him and tied it to the carrier behind the seat. Mutt and Rex used to come too, chasing cows whenever they got a chance, or racing away across the prairie after jack rabbits.

We would bike out to the end of Third Avenue and then along an old Indian trail that ran along the top of the riverbank. When we got close to the cave we would hide our bikes in the willows and then climb down the bank and follow a secret path. There were some pretty tough kids in Saskatoon, and we didn’t want them to find our cave if we could help it.

Wol loved those trips. All the way out he would bounce up and down on the handle bars, hooting to himself with excitement, or hooting out insults at any passing dog. When we came to the place where we hid the bikes, he would fly up into the poplars and follow us through the tops of the trees. He usually stayed pretty close, though; because, if he
didn’t, some crows would be sure to spot him and then they would call up all the other crows for miles around and try to mob him. When that happened he would come zooming down to the cave and bang on the door with his beak until we let him in. He wasn’t afraid of the crows; it was just that he couldn’t fight back when they tormented him. As for Weeps, he usually stayed right in the cave, where he felt safe.

One summer afternoon, when we were at the cave, we decided to go for a swim. The three of us shucked off our clothes and raced for the sand bar, hollering at each other: “Last one in’s a Dutchman!”

In half a minute we were in the water splashing around, and rolling in the slippery black mud along the edge of the sand bar. It was great stuff to fight with. Nice and soft and slithery, it packed into mushy mud-balls that made a wonderful splash when they hit something.

Whenever we went swimming, Wol would come along and find a perch in the Hanging Tree where he could watch the fun. He would get out on the big limb that hung over the water and the more fuss and noise we made the more excited he became. He would walk back and forth along the limb,
hoo-hooing
and ruffling his feathers, and you could tell he felt he was missing out on the fun.

This particular day he couldn’t stand it any longer, so
he came down out of the tree and waddled right to the river’s edge.

We were skylarking on the sand bar when I saw him, so I gave him a yell: “Hey Wol! C’mon there, Wol old owl! C’mon out here!”

Of course I thought he would fly across the strip of open water and light on the dry sand where we were playing. But I forgot Wol had never had any experience with water before, except in his drinking bowl at home.

He got his experience in a hurry. Instead of spreading his wings, he lifted up one foot very deliberately and started to walk across the water toward us.

It didn’t take him long to find out he couldn’t do it. There was an almighty splash and spray flew every which way. By the time we raced across and fished him out, he was half-drowned, and about the sickest-looking bird you ever saw. His feathers were plastered down until he looked as skinny as a plucked chicken. The slimy black mud hadn’t improved his looks much either.

I carried him ashore, but he didn’t thank me for it. His feelings were hurt worse than he was, and after he had shaken most of the water out of his feathers he went gallumphing off through the woods, toward home on foot (he was too wet to fly), without a backward glance.

Toward the middle of July Bruce and I got permission from our parents to spend a night in the cave. Murray couldn’t come because his mother wouldn’t let him. We took Wol and Weeps with us, and of course we had both dogs.

In the afternoon we went for a hike over the prairie looking for birds. Mutt, who was running ahead of us, flushed a prairie chicken off her nest. There were ten eggs in the nest and they were just hatching out.

We sat down beside the nest and watched. In an hour’s time seven of the little chickens had hatched before our eyes. It was pretty exciting to see, and Wol seemed just as curious about it as we were. Then all of a sudden three of the newly hatched little birds slipped out of the nest and scuttled straight for Wol. Before he could move they were underneath him, crowding against his big feet, and
peep-peeping
happily. I guess they thought he was their mother, because they hadn’t seen their real mother yet.

Wol was so surprised he didn’t know what to do. He kept lifting up one foot and then the other to shake off the little ones. When the other four babies joined the first three, Wol began to get nervous. But finally he seemed to resign himself to being a mother, and he fluffed his feathers out and lowered himself very gently to the ground.

Bruce and I nearly died laughing. The sight of the baby prairie chickens popping their heads out through Wol’s feathers, and that great big beak of his snapping anxiously in the air right over their heads, was the silliest thing I’ve ever seen. I guess Wol knew it was silly, too, but he couldn’t figure how to get out of the mess he was in. He kept looking at me as if he were saying, “For Heaven’s sake, DO something!”

I don’t know how long he would have stayed there, but we began to worry that the real mother might not find her chicks, so I finally lifted him up and put him on my shoulder, and we went back to the cave for supper.

We’d had a good laugh at Wol, but he had the laugh on us before the day was done.

After we had eaten we decided to go down to the riverbank and wait for the sun to set. A pair of coyotes lived on the opposite bank of the river, and every evening just at sunset one of them would climb a little hill and sit there howling. It was a scary sound, but we liked it because it made us feel that this was the olden times, and the prairie belonged to us, to the buffaloes and the Indians, and to the prairie wolves.

Wol was sitting in the Hanging Tree, and Rex and Mutt had gone off somewhere on a hunting trip of their own. It was growing dusk when we heard a lot of crashing in the
trees behind us. We turned around just as two big kids came into sight. They were two of the toughest kids in Saskatoon. If they hadn’t come on us so suddenly, we would have been running before they ever saw us. But now it was too late to run—they would have caught us before we could go ten feet. The only thing we could do was sit where we were and hope they would leave us alone.

What a hope
that
was! They came right over and one of them reached down and grabbed Bruce and started to twist his arm behind his back.

“Listen, you little rats,” he said, “we heard you got a cave someplace down here. You’re too young to own a cave, so we’re taking over. Show us where it is, or I’ll twist your arm right off!”

The other big kid made a grab for me, but I slipped past him and was just starting to run when he stuck his foot out and tripped me. Then he sat on me.

“Say, Joe,” he said to his pal, “I got an idea. Either these kids tell us where the cave is, or we tie ’em to Ole Hanging Tree and leave ’em there all night with the Injun’s ghost.”

Just then the coyote across the river gave a howl. All four of us jumped a little, what with the talk of ghosts—but Joe said: “That ain’t nothing. Just a coyote howling. You going to tell us, kid? Or do we tie you to the tree?”

Bruce and I knew they were only trying to scare us, but
we were scared all right. I was just opening my mouth to tell them where the cave was when Wol took a hand in things.

He had been sitting on the big limb of the Hanging Tree and, since it was almost dark by then, he looked like a big white blob up there. I don’t think he’d been paying much attention to what was happening on the ground below him, but when that coyote howled he must have thought it was some kind of a challenge. He opened his beak and gave the Owl Hunting Scream.

Did you ever hear a horned owl scream? Usually they do it at night to scare any mice or rabbits that happen to be
hiding near into jumping or running. Then the owl swoops down and grabs them. If you’ve ever heard an owl scream you’ll know it’s just about the most scary sound in all the world.

When Wol cut loose it made even my skin creep, and I knew what it was; but the two big kids didn’t know.

Their heads jerked up, and they saw the ghostly white shape that was Wol up there in the Hanging Tree. And then they were off and running. They went right through the poplar woods like a couple of charging buffaloes, and we could still hear them breaking bush when they were half a mile away. My guess is they ran all the way to Saskatoon.

When they were out of hearing Bruce stood up and began rubbing his arm. Then he looked at Wol.

“Boy!” he said. “You sure scared those two roughnecks silly! But did you have to scare
me
right out of my skin too?”

“Hoo-HOO-hoo-hoo-hoo-HOO!” Wol chuckled as he floated down out of the tree and lit upon my shoulder.

chapter 9

Wol and Weeps were with us long enough to be well known in Saskatoon. Particularly Wol. As my father said, Wol never quite realized he was an owl. Most of the time he seemed to think he was people. At any rate, he liked being with people and he wanted to be with us so much that we finally had to stop trying to keep him out of the house. If we locked him out he would come and bang his big beak against the window panes so hard we were afraid the glass would break. Screens were no good either, because he would tear them open with one sweep of his big claws. So eventually he became a house owl. He was always very well mannered in the house, and he caused no trouble—except on one particular occasion.

One midsummer day we had a visit from the new minister of our church. He had just arrived in Saskatoon, so he didn’t know about our owls. Mother took him into the living room, and he sat down on our sofa with a cup of tea balanced on his knee, and began to talk to Mother about me skipping Sunday School.

Wol had been off on an expedition down on the riverbank. When he got home he ambled across the lawn, jumped up to the ledge of one of the living room windows and peered in. Spotting the stranger he gave another leap and landed heavily on the minister’s shoulder.

Mother had seen him coming and had tried to warn the minister, but she was too late. By the time she had her mouth open, Wol was already hunched down on the man’s shoulder, peering around into his face, making friendly owl noises.

“
Who-who?
” he asked politely.

Instead of answering, the minister let out a startled yelp and sprang to his feet. The tea spilled all over the rug, and the teacup shot into the fireplace and smashed into a million pieces.

It was all so sudden that Wol lost his balance; and when he lost his balance his talons just naturally tightened up to help him steady himself. When Wol tightened his grip the minister gave a wild Indian yell, and made a dash for the door.

Wol had never been treated this way before. He didn’t like it. Just as the minister reached the front porch, Wol spread his wings and took off. His wings were big, and they were strong too. One of them clipped the man a bang on the side of his head, making him yell even louder. But by
then Wol was airborne. He flew up into his favorite poplar tree, and he was in such a huff at the way he had been treated that he wouldn’t come down again till after supper.

Riding on people’s shoulders was a favorite pastime with Wol. Usually he was so careful with his big claws that you couldn’t even feel them. Sometimes when he was on your shoulder and feeling specially friendly, he would nibble your ear. His beak was sharp enough to have taken the ear right off your head at a single bite, but he would just catch the bottom of your ear in his beak and very gently nibble it a little. It didn’t hurt at all, though it used to make some people nervous. One of my father’s friends was a man who worked for the railroad, and he had very big, red ears. Every time he came for a visit to our house he wore a cap—a cap with ear-flaps. He wore it even in summertime because, he said, with ears as big as his and an ear-nibbling owl around he just couldn’t afford to take chances.

Wol was usually good-natured, but he
could
get mad. One morning Mother sent me to the store for some groceries. My bike had a flat tire so I had to walk, and Wol walked with me. We were only a little way from our house when we met the postman coming toward us. He had a big bundle of letters in his hand, and he was sorting them and
not watching where he was going. Instead of stepping around Wol, he walked right into him.

Worse still, he didn’t even look down to see what it was he had stumbled over. He just gave a kind of kick to get whatever it was out of his way.

Well, you could do a lot of things to Wol and get away with it—but kicking him was something different. Hissing like a giant teakettle, he spread his wings wide out and clomped the postman on the shins with them. A whack from one of his wings was like the kick of a mule. The postman dropped his handful of letters and went pelting down the street, yelling blue murder—with Wol right on his heels.

After I got hold of Wol and calmed him down, I apologized to the postman. But for a month after that he wouldn’t come into our yard at all. He used to stand at the gate and whistle until one of us came out to get the mail.

Our owls were so used to going nearly everywhere with me now that when school started that fall I had a hard time keeping them at home. I used to bicycle to school, which was about two miles away across the river. During the first week after school opened, I was late four times because of having to take the owls back home after they had followed me partway.

Finally Dad suggested that I lock them up in the big pen each morning just before I left. Wol and Weeps hadn’t used that pen for a long time, and when I put them in they acted as if it was a jail. Wol was particularly furious, and he began to tear at the chicken wire with his beak and claws. I sneaked off fast. I was almost late anyway, and I knew if I was late once more I’d be kept in after school.

I was about halfway over the river bridge when a man on the footpath gave a shout and pointed to something behind my back. At the same time a car, coming toward me, jammed on its brakes and nearly skidded into the cement railings. Not knowing what was going on, I put on my brakes too, and I just had time to stop when there was a wild rush of air on the back of my neck, a deep “HOOO-HOOO-HOO!” in my ear, and Wol landed on my shoulder.

He was out of breath—but he was so pleased with himself that I didn’t have the heart to take him home. Anyway, there wasn’t time. So he rode the handle bars the rest of the way to school.

I skidded into the yard just as the two-minute bell was ringing and all the other kids were going through the doors. I couldn’t decide what on earth to do with Wol. Then I remembered that I had some twine in my pocket. I fished it out and used it to tie him by one leg to the handle bars.

The first class I had that morning was French. Well, between worrying about Wol and not having done my homework, I was soon in trouble with the teacher (whom we called Fifi behind her back). Fifi made me come up in front of the class so she could tell me how dumb I was. I was standing beside her desk, wishing the floor would open and swallow me up, when there was a whump-whump-whump at the window. I turned my head to look, and there sat Wol.

It hadn’t taken him long to untie the twine.

I heard later that he had banged on the windows of two or three other classrooms before he found the right one. Having found the right room at last, he didn’t waste any time. Unluckily Fifi had left one of our windows open. Wol ducked down, saw me, and flew right in.

He was probably aiming to land on my shoulder, but he missed and at the last second tried to land on Fifi’s desk. It was a polished hardwood desk; he couldn’t get a grip on it. His brakes just wouldn’t hold; he skated straight across the desk scattering papers and books all over the floor. Fifi saw him coming and tried to get up out of her chair, but she wasn’t fast enough. Wol skidded off the end of the desk and plumped right into her lap.

There were some ructions after that. I was sent to the principal’s office and Fifi went home for the rest of the day.

The principal was a good fellow, though. He just read me a lecture, and warned me that if I didn’t keep my owl away from the school in future, he would have to get the police to do something about it.

We finally figured out a way to keep the owls from following me to school. Each morning, just before I left, we would let Wol and Weeps into the kitchen. Mother would feed them the bacon rinds left over from breakfast, while I sneaked out the front door and rode away. It worked fine, but it was a little hard on Mother because the owls got so fond of the kitchen she usually couldn’t get them out of it again. Once I heard her telling a friend that, until a woman had tried to bake a cake, with two horned owls looking over her shoulders, she hadn’t really lived at all!