This story from 1989 first appeared in Frankliniana, the National Association for Interpretation’s newsletter for the Southeast Region. Contributors retain rights. The story interrupts the flow of my Cape Cod Days journal, but I recently encountered a photo of me with the owl. We are close, but each leaning away from the other.
Owl Aboard
When the owl arrived at Woodlands Nature Center, it seemed alert but couldn't fly or open its left wing. There was a raw red spot on one wing and another on its breast where it had flown into a barbed wire fence. The bird clacked its beak in warning as we examined and disinfected its wounds.
The owl couldn't have weighed more than three ounces and stood about four inches tall, but it was no baby; it was a mature saw-whet owl, one of North America's smallest owl species. Although typical in some areas, saw-whet owls are rare in southern states, and this was only the second record for our region.
Woodlands Nature Center was not in the business of wildlife rehabilitation. Still, a few animals were permanently placed there as educational exhibits, many contributed by wildlife rehabilitators who had determined they were non-releasable. People knew us as “that animal place” and often brought us injured animals, hoping we could "fix them up," as did the farmer who brought us the owl.
We suggested that anyone calling about an injured animal directly take the animal in question to a rehabilitator. Failing that, we provided immediate care and transported the animals to a rehabilitator.
Everyone seemed to have their hands full on this April day, even the raptor clinic at the local university. Their director examined the bird for severe injuries, suggested a food and exercise regimen, and left the owl in our care after making the necessary arrangements under his center’s permit.
At first, the owl could only flutter enough to break its fall, but its appetite was excellent. It ate two mice daily and sometimes jumped from its kennel carrier to hop around the room. At times, it inflated its chest and clacked its beak. It remained a wild creature and did not become accustomed to humans. That fear of humans is necessary for a wild animal's survival, so keeping the owl isolated from humans and seeing that it did not become accustomed to us was essential.
A week after its arrival, the saw-whet owl flew around the auditorium between programs, and it was ready for release ten days after arrival. We drove to a pine forest well away from traffic and removed it from the carrier. At first, it sat on my gloved hand and peered at the surroundings, but it would not fly. Then it stretched its wings, and a sudden burst of energy took it to a nearby branch.
After the release, I could only speculate on the owl's whereabouts, for saw-whet owls are migratory. They also have a brief life, and the released owl has certainly passed away in the more than thirty years since I first recorded these events.
Nevertheless, thanks to a concerned farmer who took the time to rescue and bring it to us, that saw-whet owl flew again over North America. That was the reward for our efforts.