OWL IN HOUSE! Baby owl in my living room!

A couple of hours ago, I was working on a completely different LJ entry when I decided to head to the kitchen for a diet RC. I made the turn out of the bedroom hall into the front entry, and–

OMG!! OMG!!! A huge BAT was flying right at my head from the living room! Here it came like an Extreme Close-Up! “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYAAAAA,” I screamed as I bolted back into the computer room. (Yes, those were simultaneous actions worthy of an “as”!)

“What?!” Hubby whirled in his chair, cranky. He knows I will shriek like that if a JUNEBUG lands on my NECK (which they always do when I open the front door around this time of year).


(A proper dialogue tag would be, “I gibbered.”)

“There’s not a bat in the house.” He actually stood up and went to investigate. “What the hell?!” Stopping short, he stared up at the curtain rod.

See? I wasn’t making it up.

Baby owl. About six inches tall and complete with TALONS (see feet, above) and BEAK and golden eyes with horizontal pupils.

“OMG. How did it get in here?”

“My best guess is that when I took the dog out into the courtyard earlier today, it somehow flew inside. But that’s been at least four hours. Nobody has opened the doors for the past four hours.”

“It’s so cute,” I whispered. “But it CAME TO GET ME.” It had been trying to scare me, or perhaps it was trying to get me to show it the way out . . . or something.

Hubby goggled. “Well . . . maybe I can get it with the fish net from the pond out back.”

“The fish net isn’t that large.”

“Open the front door in case it flies again. It might go right out.”

“Good idea.” He opened the door and six huge houseflies and three moths flew in. I couldn’t worry about that now. Also, the heat of the day poured in, ruining my A/C-cooled house. Again . . . whatever.

I scurried back to tell my mom (the household little old lady, whose room is off the kitchen, on the other wing) why I’d screamed. “There’s a baby owl sitting on the curtain rod in the living room.”


The Pomeranian was lying on her bed, ears perked.

“Come on and see it. But then you have to go back and close the doors and keep Teddybear in there. Owls prey on little orange things that are fluffly like bunnies.”

She came down the hall cautiously and peered into the living room. It was looking into the open-plan area towards the front door, where Hubster was still figgerin’ on what to do.


She shot back down the hall and grabbed the broom. “I’ll shoo it out the front door.”

“You’ll do no such thing. We could all be clawed to death!” I took the broom away. “I’m calling animal control.”

Of course it was 9:30 at night. Ha! But Richardson has phone numbers for everything, and I have them taped on the fridge. I called the animal control number and the recording calmly explained that a man in a truck was available until midnight on weeknights, and I should call this other number to get the dispatcher.

Ring-ring. “Shelter,” said a bored old man.

“I have an OWL in my living room. Can you send someone to get it with a net?”

“Wow. Never hearda sucha thing. An owl?” Pause. “What’s your address?”

I reeled it off. He knew from that what my name was and that I was entitled to services. “Well, I dunno. The front desk closed at six, and they won’t come back in until morning.”

“Please! I have an owl in my house. Aren’t they endangered?”

“I dunno anything about ’em. But lemme see. There is a guy in a truck I can call, but they usually don’t go into your house.” NEITHER DO OWLS! “Lemme put you on hold and I’ll try him on the radio.”

Bubba came back on the line. “OK, I’m going to hang up and the guy will call you right back.” He verified my phone number.

I hung up and Mama and I stared at each other.

“Get in there and guard the dog. I’m going to close the door from the half bath into your room. Wish we had a pocket door between your room and the kitchen like at Laurie’s house.”

She retreated and grabbed her cell phone to inform my aunt that we now had a Wild Owl in the house and that it was all because I am such a terrible housekeeper and keep so much STUFF that the house is JUNKED UP and WILD ANIMALS COME INSIDE TO LIVE AMONG THE JUNK.

(to be continued)


Author: shalanna

Shalanna: rhymes with "Madonna" and "I wanna," and is not a soundalike with "Hosanna" or "Sha-Na-Na." Aging hippie with long hair, husband, elderly mother, and yappy Pomeranian. I've been writing since I could hold a crayon. I started with fiction, which Mama said was "lying." “Don’t tell stories,” she would admonish, in Southern vernacular. “That's all in your imagination!” When grownups said this, they were not approving. So, shamed, I stopped telling stories for a few years--rather, I stopped letting anyone read them. I'm married to a fellow computer nerd who doesn't really like hearing about writing, but who reads sf/fantasy and understands the creative drive. I'm actually a nonconformist/hippie still wearing bluejeans and drop earrings and the Alice-in-Wonderland hair with headbands and sandals. Favorite flavor is chocolate/orange, favorite color is either Dreamsicle orange (cantaloupe) or bubble-gum pink, favorite musical is either Bye Bye Birdie, Rocky Horror, or The Producers . . . wait, I also love The Music Man. Is this getting way too specific and irrelevant yet? Obvious why I don't sell a ton of flash fiction, isn't it? To define oneself, I always say, it is good to make a list. How about a booklist? Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird Frank and Ernestine Gilbreth, Cheaper by the Dozen C.S.Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (all the Narnia books) J.R.R.Tolkien,The Hobbit/LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy Gail Godwin, The Odd Woman F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye (before dismissing it, actually read it) George Orwell, 1984 Kurt Vonnegut, Cat's Cradle Donna Tartt, The Secret History Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn James Allen, As A Man Thinketh Mark Winegardner, Elvis Presley Boulevard James Thurber, My Life and Hard Times The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum Winnie-the-Pooh/House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne Peter Pan, J. M. Barrie The KJV and NIV Bible (each translation has its glories)

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