An English In Kentucky


















Friday September 16th 2011    Tim Candler

    Last night Barred Owls again called to each other.  It was loud, it was without music and it contained a quality that caused distant dogs to bark.  Begin to think the language of a Barred Owl is in the tone of his call.  Last night this language held dispute and argument, which I do not believe was resolved or will be soon.  Their quarrel was polite but firm.  "I will not shout at you, sir! But I hope you choke."

     I am told Barred Owls feast well upon those little Turkey who are too small to fly.  Probably in the night a little Turkey ignores his mother's advice, he scratches himself, or moves just a little bit to test a feather, and the rest is his past.  But I have to think that Barred Owls long ago decided that only common fowl dine on Rabbit because this year there's a surfeit of Rabbit.  None of them remotely coy. And damn how I wish I spoke Owl. Then I could write pamphlets on the value of Rabbit to Owl diet.

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