Have a little trouble identifying things I see

I have a proven record of misidentifying things I see. It isn’t getting better with time.

Once it was an owl. I would have bet money on it.

It was nighttime and our dog was in the front yard barking like a maniac. I flipped on the porch light and peered out to see what the cause of the ruckus might be.

On the ground, maybe 30 feet from the porch, I was met by two glowing eyes, their gaze fixed upon me.

It was unquestionably an owl. There was simply no doubt.

I knew it should not be sitting on the ground, especially with the dog carrying on like that (even taking into account that few of our family dogs have been burdened with keen intellects).

With rescue in mind, I collected a towel and a box, eased the door open, and started creeping slowly toward the owl.

It never moved. It never blinked.

Like a lion on the hunt, I furtively inched closer.

Still not a blink or even the slightest reaction.

Closer.

Closer still.

I can’t say precisely how close I was (but it was — I’ll be honest — pathetically close) when it came to me that this wasn’t natural.

No wild animal … not even an injured one … would be this still.

This unflinching.

This unblinking.

I am sure you have already guessed this was no owl.

Or any kind of animal.

I was all set, it turned out, to rescue … one of my husband’s hiking boots.

Those steadfast, fearless “eyes” were the top two lacing eyelets, which happened to be lined up perfectly to catch the glow of our porch light.

This little owl’s mate was still on the porch, where it had not yet been discovered by the idiot dog, the one and only suspect in the prank.

And where was said dog by then?

She had already moved on to warn me that a leaf had fallen from the mulberry tree.

Or wait.

Was it some rare and unusual bird?

Bring me my binoculars.

Betty Williamson’s power of observation is only exceeded by her overactive imagination. Reach her at:

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