About An Owl

Recently, while on a hike with my husband, we had the following conversation:

Me: “Do you think an owl used to live in that tree?” (Because that’s the kind of thing I think about.)

Husband: “No. I do not.” (He does not think about such things.)

Me: “But, you don’t know for sure. It’s possible, right?” (Because the tree really did look like it should host an owl. It was that kind of tree.)

Husband: “Probably not.” (Obviously, he knows nothing about trees.)

Me: “Maybe it didn’t live there full time. Maybe it just used the tree as like a clubhouse or something.” (At this point, he gives me a look like he thinks I’m weird, but he’s the one who married me, so if either of us is a weirdo, it’s him. Just saying.)

Me: “I was just telling you the other day that I’d like to photograph an owl. So if that’s an owl tree, that would be perfect, right?”

Husband: “I don’t think owls like to be photographed.”

Me: “Are you kidding?!?!? There are a ton of amazing photographs of owls. They’re very photogenic.” (They’re probably a bit narcissistic given their good looks and photogenic qualities and all, but I’d still like to find one.)

Husband: “Well, I don’t think there are any owls here.”

Me: “We never go anywhere nice.”

Husband: “This place is nice.”

Me: “Not if it doesn’t have any owls. Hey, look at that nest.” (Because I had to change the subject fast before I sank into a depression about the lack of owls.) “What do you think lives in that?”

Husband: “It’s pretty big. Probably a buzzard or something.”

Me: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a buzzard nest before.”

Husband: “Doesn’t mean they don’t have them.”

Me: “Doesn’t mean that’s one of them.”

Husband: “Doesn’t mean it’s not.” (Now he’s just being difficult. I suspect he learned this from me.)

Me: “I think I see some feathers in it.”

Husband: “I don’t see anything.”

Me: “Doesn’t mean they’re not there.” (See. This is where he gets it from.)

Husband: “I think you’re wrong.”

Me: “You should have learned by now that I’m never really wrong.” (It’s true. ish. And if I’m not sure I’m right I preface with, “I might be wrong…” which means even if I’m wrong I’m right because I said I could be wrong, but in this instance – like most others where the husband is concerned – I was quite sure I was right.)

Husband: “There are no feathers.”

Me: “We’ll see.” (I zoom in and take a picture.)

My plan to arrange a meeting is in the works. It involves one of the windup rats I bought my dog off of Amazon because he loves to catch lizards but there aren’t as many to catch in the winter which he takes personally, plus, the lizards deserve a break because even though he has such a soft mouth that he can catch the tiniest baby lizards without hurting them, he likes to release them and catch them again and again like a cat. Eventually, they try to hide in the grass and he uses his bear claws to play peekaboo and that is when they meet their fate.

Also, he loves to play and squeak his toys but he doesn’t like to play with people anymore and gets rather offended whenever someone touches them because they’re his and not ours and he puts them in his mouth and he’s never quite sure if our hands are clean enough or not, but I want to play and it’s not fair because my hands are very clean, so I bought the windup rats for him to chase around the house which he enjoyed for two minutes until I touched them to wind them up again. Now he won’t touch them, but I’m pretty sure the owl will like them so I’m going to use them to try and make a new friend. But don’t tell the husband because he thinks it’s a horrible idea and even though I think it’s a good one, I might be wrong……

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