I Saw A Red-eared Owl Today!

"I saw a Red-eared Owl today!"

Not really, no.  But he did see something.  And that something was really cool.  And he wanted to tell his dad all about it as soon as he saw him.  At four or five-years-old, you might not get the facts quite right; the experience and your impressions of that experience are the main thing.

This too-chilly morning, we took a walk.  I went out with six of my young friends for an amble.  We mosied through a corner of the Nature Center that we haven't visited in a while, way down in the Southeast section of the property, behind some residences and just north of Marie Avenue.  The woods are not very pretty right now.  The forest is monotone, mostly browns and greys, with just a few hints of green here and there (that hearty garlic mustard is already making a go of it).  We poked along, admiring deer poop and noting that the swelling creek sported a skim of ice.  The birds were less active than they have been in recent, warmer, days and the peepers were silent, no doubt snugged back down in the muck until the temps climb back up again.  The kids were pretty quiet too, feeling chilly, hiking along, half-heartedly prodding the poop and ice with their sticks.  Just as I was thinking, "Boy, what we need is a change, something unexpected"-- a kid said, "I found something here!"  And indeed he had.  Although our discovery sports some camouflaging plumage, the browns and russets of its feathers stood out from the forest floor, announcing something unexpected.

The bird was belly-up, guts gone, the muscle and bone of one leg laid bare.  The kids circled 'round.

Me:  "What is that?"
"A bird."
"A predator.  It's got talons.  I know it's a predator 'cus it's got talons.  I see'd that on Wild Kratts."
"What are talons?"
"For hunting."
"Grabbing up something."
"Ripping it up."
"I think it's an owl."
"Where's his head?"
Me:  "Let's roll it over.  I think we might find out what it is."
We rolled the raptor over and the red tail feathers seemed to blaze.  Now we could see the head too.
"It's not a owl."
Me:  "How do you know?"
"I see the face.  It's got a beak."
"Owls have beaks."
"That's a sharp beak."
"It's a Hawk Tail."
"It's a Hawk Owl."
"It's a Red Hawk."
Me:  "Yes, it is a Red-tailed Hawk."
The kids looked at me and then someone looked at the sky.
Me:  "We see them flying around, don't we?"
"I know about Red-tail Hawks from Wild Kratts.  I watch that.  Well, sometimes I don't.  When I do something bad, my mom says, 'No Wild Kratts today,' and I don't get to watch Wild Kratts, when I do something bad.  I do something bad about every day, so it's been about...about two months since I watched Wild Kratts.  But two months ago I watcheded that show and it showed about Red-tail Hawks."
"They fly high in the sky."
"But how did it get down here?  Why's it on the ground?"
"It's dead."
Me:  "How do you think it died?"
Some kids turned and surveyed the area, as if looking for clues.
"Somebody shot it."
Me:  "Maybe, but people aren't allowed to shoot animals at Dodge."
"Maybe it flew into a tree, 'n got hurt."
"An' something ate it."
"A hunter."
"No!  It perched down on the log and a wolf came up behind!  Snuck up behind!  And grabbed it!"
Me:  "I don't think there are any wolves at Dodge, though."
"Then I think it was a coyote that ate it.  Jumped up and got him."
"He didn't see it."

And the conversation went on from there.  Eventually we hauled the Red-tailed Hawk out of the woods and placed it near a trail head so that other classes could take a look.  The Willow Room has been thinking about birds a lot this year, and teacher Kristenza is the defacto head of what one might call the "Bird Club" here at Dodge.*  Before returning to class, my hikers chatted with Willow Room students as they admired the Hawk.  One boy solved the mystery of the bird's demise:

"I know what happened.  A coyote jumped real high in the air and just snapped him right down.  Then ate him.  That's what happened."

My follow-up questions about how high coyotes can jump failed to move him from this position.  A girl, standing just behind him, shook her head in that fed-up, world-weary way:

"No, they just can't jump that high.  It didn't happen.  Something else killed the owl.  We don't know what did it," here she shook her head again, "but it wasn't a coyote."

Before we left the Willies to their further investigations, one of my students observed the sharpness of the beak again, "That thing looks strong enough to cut a tomato!"  Or a finger.

Back in class, we worked on our "List" of dictated observations about the morning.  The Red-tailed Hawk made The List.  Today We....

...went on a hike to find the thing that died
...find a dead hawk
...saw a Red-tailed Hawk that was dead

And what do those observations have in common?  Death.  Something was dead, and the kids saw it, and thought about it.  The bird itself was interesting.  The conversation around the bird was interesting.  And the fact that the bird was dead compelled the kids to consider the bird, and the fact that it's dead.  Big ideas here and this seems to be just the right way to consider them.  It wasn't our bird.  Wasn't our pet.  We can consider the bird and it's life and a it's fate with a level of detachment that sooner or later circles back around a little bit closer to us, at a pretty safe distance (there was a bit of gore, but not much as these things go).  You'll remember that towards the end of our conversation, kids were imagining what had happened, they were talking through a scenario in much the same way that they tell, illustrate and act out stories in the classroom.  They made up some stories about the Hawk in order to understand what they were seeing.  You can hear some great hypothetical thinking in the conversation, and I think you can also hear the kids' gaze.  You can hear what they are really focusing on, and in this case they were thinking about what birds are and what death is.

When we were leaving the woods and the Hawk behind, one child said, "That bird is really lucky.  He died without losing his feathers.  They didn't get all messed up.  He died with his feathers on."

I was reminded of cowboys, dying with their boots on, but I think my friend was considering the fact that here at Dodge we usually just find feathers at the scene of the crime, feathers strewn far and sometimes wide.  I pointed out that the bird did die, and maybe he wasn't so lucky after all (I am only an adult, after all).

My young friend looked at me and shrugged, "At least he has his feathers."

The upshot is, I think, go for a hike.  Young or old, you never know what you might find, and what you might think about it.

And, also, please don't poison rodents.  Raptors eat rodents, and poisoned rodents poison raptors.  And raptors eat rodents to begin with, thus helping to control the rodent population!  Raptors are the solution.

*Bird Club has its origins in a fateful northern excursion; members of the erstwhile Bird Club have a keen interest in fresh avian roadkill specimens and have been known to hop out of vehicles to get a closer look, and to perhaps fetch a plastic bag for procurement.  Don't worry, Bird Club members now carry roadkill harvesting permits.  I'm serious.  Bird Club has a motto too:  Say, "Yes!"  Bird Club is inspired by intrepid Dodge Naturalist Mick Garrett, who carries implements like hatchets and bone saws in the trunk of his car.  One never knows when a bone saw might come in handy, best to be prepared.  Unlike Naturalist Mick, Bird Club members do not wear impressive beards, and, thus, if spotted roadside, hatchet in hand, hacking away at a carcass, are less likely to strike fear into the hearts of passing motorists.