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Mid-February, Rob met with Olivia, a 6-year-old female snowy owl, in Northern Minnesota.
Rob: Thank you for chatting with me.
Olivia: Well, I had a little time. I was on a food run. Whitey’s watching the hatchlings for a spell.
R: Is Whitey your mate?
O: Well… um, no. Look, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that owls don’t mate for life. Usually, a season at most. And to be honest, I’ve forgotten his name. It’s something like Albert. Or Rudy. I feel like I’d know it if I heard it.
R: Jermaine?
O: Interestingly specific guess. But no. All I know for sure is It’s definitely not Whitey.
R: And it’s too late to ask him?
O: About ten hatchlings too late. Look, he’s male enough. He’s very white. Decent hunter. But when you’re four or five seasons into the game like me, they start to blur together.
R: Fair enough. Moving on. So, owls have a reputation of being, well, wise.
O: Yes, we do.
R: My question is: Why? I’ve thought about this from a bunch of different angles. At first, I thought it had something to do with the owl being nocturnal and practically able to turn their heads all the way around. Like, maybe owls could see what others couldn’t?
O: That’s not a bad theory.
R: But then I thought maybe wise for an owl has something to do with perspective.
O: Yes. It is quite a view from up here.
R: Well, as a matter of fact, the owl flies much lower to the ground than most birds.
O: Maybe it’s less altitudinal and more… geographical.
R: But owls migrate far shorter distances than many birds. I mean, you summer in the Arctic.
O: Oh, yes. The Arctic’s terrific in the summer. No tourists. Cool breezes. All you can eat lemmings.
R: Yes, but if we’re going by migratory patterns, surely the bird of wisdom would be the Arctic Tern which flies around 25,000 miles every year.
O: It’s possible that wisdom comes with time. You know, the wise old owl.
R: Yes, but again, the average life span of the albatross blows the snowy owl away. So, to speak.
O: Umm… Perhaps owls just look wise… in appearance.
R: What the heck does “wise” look like? O: Me?
R: (sighs) So you’re not actually wise?
O: (shrugs) I don’t even know Whitey’s name. Although, I think it starts with a vowel. Erkle? Or Oliver? Ivanhoe?
R: Umberto.
O: Is Umberto a name?
R: I don’t know. But back to the… (refers to notes) Some think the owl is magic. Are you?
O: Am I magic?
R: Yes. Do you ever make things disappear?
O: Yes. Lemmings.
R: Ever pull a rabbit out of a hat?
O: I wish.
R: Where do you think that magic owl came from?
O: Harry Potter, maybe?
R: Oh, yeah. There’s an owl in there. Was he magic?
O: I have no idea. I am an owl. I don’t read young adult fantasy. Look, perhaps we can agree that while the owl is not actually magic, she is, in a way, magical. It’s a feeling, not a power. Though I wish it was a power. I’d like to conjure up Whathisface’s name right now. Anthony? Ishmael?
R: Hmm. Well, while we’re on the topic of literature… Owl in Winnie the pooh is, how shall we say…
O: –Long-winded? Short-tempered? Rambling?
R: Yes. Those things. Do you know any owls with this disposition?
O: Why, in fact, why my great aunt Clementine used to go on and on about this very topic. It’s a funny story actually. Blah, blah, blah.
R: Are you mocking Milne?
O: The true Pooh fan can visit the original cast of stuffed animals at the New York Public library. They will find a bear, a tiger, a kangaroo, and one forlorn donkey, Milne never knew an owl, not even a stuffed one. He made him up. Like I’m making up names for… Oscar! No. Ivan! Icarus!
R: Is he Greek?
O: No.
R: I do have a final question about Who.
O: Who?
R: Yes.
O: Is your question… Who…’s on first?
R: No. I was referring to the signature call of the owl: Who.
O: Ah. I see. I thought you wanted to do a bit.
R: I’d like to know if you, or anyone you know, has ever called for… Whom?
O: (sigh) Annoyingly, yes. A few owls fancy themselves Hemingways or whatever, but the rest of us think they’re a bunch of insufferable schoolmarms. The distinction between who and whom is not a distinction of any real importance!
R: Fair enough.
O: Earnest!
R: I beg your pardon
O: Whitey’s name is Earnest!
R: It is?
O: Yes! And I must go before I forget. Or we move on.
And without another word, Olivia flies off.
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