The other night in our new digs we had the great surprise of owl hoots from what was undoubtedly a great-horned owl up in the tree over our roof in Sylvania.
It was a perfect night for it: a crisp, clear December past midnight event. When I told my wife the time she could have heard it, which was somewhere around 1 a.m., her mouth went agape.
“Well, that’s no fair,” she said because that’s waaaay past her bedtime, but she does like owls. They don’t always hoot at the wee hours. Many times the great-horned owl will begin right at dark.
But for my son, who was in the bathroom at the time getting washed up, he thought it was me.
See, I’ve never been able to whistle so when I would try to get their attention in a store or hallway, I would owl hoot to them. I consider some of my bird calls with just my mouth as my best imitations. It’s a turkey hunting thing. During spring other bird calls can get a tom to “shock gobble” because they have to be the dominant caller in the woods. (My crow call is second to none. Ah, but we digress.)