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January 11, 2007  Hooty in the Duck House The following story was relayed to me over the phone about two days after it happened. And, although I’ve heard several variations of Owls attacking Chickens and other domestic livestock, I thought this particular story had some humorous aspects that warranted repeating. It all began in the wee dark hours of the morning, perhaps 6 a.m. or so, when two of the three people living at the residence heard some noises. The couple soon determined the sounds in question were coming from a duck pen where normally a pair of tame ducks peacefully dream the night away. The lady of the house stepped quickly outside to investigate the sound, as the husband describes, ‘without any clothes on.’ She scanned her surroundings looking for immediate threats, then as any good warrior might do, selected a weapon and headed to the duck pen preparing for battle with pitchfork in hand. Meanwhile back at the house the couple’s very large dog found the open door, and being a valiant and courageous dog, wanted to offer assistance. Unfortunately the dog seemed baffled as to the focal point of the ruckus. Instead of following its master to the duck pen, it began running around the yard barking fiercely into the dark. And the dog continued to do so as the undressed lady, pitchfork in hand, approached the source of the disturbance. She got to the duck pen and found only the female duck cowering in the corner of the enclosure while a huge rumpus issued from inside the small house where the ducks sleep. Obviously something had entered the duck house and was attempting to kill the male duck. At this point the lady began hitting the small duck house with the pitchfork and yelling. All the while the dog continued to run frantically about the yard barking noisily. The husband, who I imagine standing mouth agape watching all this, said that he was awe struck by his wife’s vocal prowess. She shrieked orders at the dog and bellowed at the yet-to-be-identified predator trying to kill the duck. Her husband said that the sounds she made were so loud and distressing he thought she was ‘going to bring her organs up through her mouth.’ The picture he painted is still vivid in my mind and I couldn’t help laughing. I imagined the early morning scene; an undressed woman wielding a pitchfork shrieking like a banshee and accompanied by a baying dog. Part of what seemed so funny is that none of this awakened the other member of the household, their teenager. The husband finally arrived on the scene to see the male duck emerging from the duck house looking as though hit by a car. Shortly thereafterward an Owl emerged from the same structure. The owl flew to the duck pen railing then glared at the man from 6 feet away before flying to a nearby tree. After things died down it was apparent that the male duck, other than looking a bit disheveled, was none the worse for wear. Of course, my first thoughts upon hearing the story were to request a full description of the Owl. This probably wasn’t a top priority at the time of the duck rescue but the duck’s owners suggested the attacker might have been a Barred Owl. In cases where an Owl goes to great extremes to capture prey, such as entering a coop or pen, I always suspect the ‘tiger of the woods,’ the Great Horned Owl as being the most likely candidate. However, in this case both rescuers concurred there were no horns to be seen and insisted that it was a Barred Owl making the attack. After the phone call I hit the books to see what type of prey the bigger woodland Owls prefer, but the information used words such as ‘other mammals’ and ‘game birds’ so it was short on specifics. Any medium-sized hungry Owl seems capable of such an attack so the Barred Owl identity was quite possible. I’m glad the story ended happily because the male duck, a feisty bird in its own right, is no ordinary barnyard bird but a cherished member of this particular family. Its name is ‘The Ducktor,’ and the only other celebrity I know of with a ‘the’ in his name is ‘the Donald’ so this duck is in a small but elite group. I also garnered a new simile from the story - sleeping like a teenager. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
