Six years ago we put up a screech-owl house. It wasn’t easy, mind you, given it had to go 30 feet up in an old tree on a slope. Having always loved birds, and with a fairly good-sized feeding station behind the house where I track the species that visit, I was anxious to add the screech-owl to the list.
Year one and two the owl house stood empty, but year three? I screeched in delight to see brown ears poking up, only to discover that the ears belonged to squirrels, not owls. (Maybe it would become a Bed and Breakfast?) They taunted me with their antics, making it clear I was personally responsible for increasing the squirrel population on our property. And then year four rolled around, and the brown ears no longer belonged to a squirrel, but to Scout, as I called him, a rufous-colored Screech. Apparently solitary, he kept watch while I mowed the lawn and worked in the garden, tracking my every movement. I can only think he was checking out the facility to determine its suitability, for this past year he returned, this time with a mate, and the Scout family came to be. What started with one owlet soon increased to four, and many an evening was spent watching them watching me.
Late August they fledged, and this anxious grand-owl was trapsing through the woods, evenings on end, hoping to catch sight or sound of the new family. A few whinnies later and they have disappeared for the winter, turning the property over to, you guessed it, the squirrels.
