Hoots and Coons

I run in the dark.  Mostly alone until the summer nights bring out wild things not seen during cooler months: owls and raccoons.

I am not fond of raccoons.  My first jogging encounter with a coon was just a few strides from my front door.  The large raccoon was ambling across the intersection when we saw each other.  Used to the response of coyotes which, once spotted, lope off into the brush, I simply kept going in the coon's direction.  Rather than retreat, it fluffed out its fur, bared its teeth, and hissed at me.  I picked up my pace and got past the raccoon red zone, not wanting to find out just how aggressive a dog-sized raccoon would be.  As I glanced over my shoulder, to my relief and surprise I saw it head down the storm drain opening in the curb.  The raccoons I have seen since are smaller (cat-sized), running in clans of three or four and not nearly as aggressive, but often use the storm drains as an escape route.  I wonder just how many live below our street.

Sometime last summer, an enterprising group of raccoons found the cat door to our garage.  The first time or two we saw the cat food bag torn open, we assumed the cats were getting a little impatient in the morning.  Then, my eldest daughter happened to be up late one night when the raccoons paid a visit.  She heard odd noises in the garage and went to investigate.  Seeing the little bandits, she  grabbed her air-soft pistol and chased them out with an unending volley of plastic pellets.  After that, we resorted to storing the cat food in an industrial 3-gallon plastic bucket with a threaded lid.  This worked well as long as the cat-feeding crew put the lid on correctly.  After a few incidents of the bin being tipped and cat food strewn across the garage floor, we finally got all hands trained on proper bucket sealing.  Still, the coons had formed a habit and had to be chased off a time or two more that summer.  We thought we were done with them, but they apparently were just on a seasonal hiatus.  At least twice in the past month, the cats' water dish has been fouled with cat food.  And we know which nocturnal creature loves to wash food before eating it...

While raccoons are bold pests that I could do without, owl sightings are a welcome, rare treat.  Typically, as I stride along, a silent shadow will swoop into my peripheral vision and alight on a street light.  If I shield my eyes just right, I can see the owl perched on top.  Their comfort zone, however, is less than the distance from the lamp to the ground.  Invariably as I pass underneath, the owl will fly off.  It is eery to experience the total silence of an owl in flight.  The wings of the ubiquitous black ravens that are about the same size can be heard some distance off as they beat the air.

In our area, there are barn owls and great horned owls.  Only once have I seen a great horned owl.  I was able to get close enough to see the trademark tufts on its head.  It was larger and darker than the barn owls and just as silent when it majestically soared away.

My most recent encounter was remarkable.  I was jogging down the last hill before home.  As I approached the intersection,  I caught a flicker of movement and saw the silhouette of a small animal near the curb on the far side of the street.  In reminded me of a rabbit.  But, as I drew closer, wings came out and it flew just a few feet up to a split-rail fence where it remained as I drew closer.  I stopped on the opposite side of the street.  Not wanting to spook the bird I circled out across the street until I was past the intersection.  There was something on the ground the owl did not want to abandon.  I moved closer.  Once within about 30 feet, I stopped.  The owl would look at me, then back at the ground, then all around again.  A step or two closer.  Then we stood looking at each other in the monochromatic light of the sodium lamp for a few more timeless seconds, his eyes dark in a white face.    Of course, there is no way to know what is going through a bird's mind at a time like that.  Though owls are linked with wisdom, they do have bird-sized brains.  Still, I can imagine this barn owl's train of thought:
"Oh bother.  I suppose that fellow across the street is just going to stand there gawking as long as I am here.  Doesn't have the good manners to leave me to eat my breakfast in private.  Just have to return to it later, I suppose."
 Then he spread his gray and white wings and lifted off into the dark.