Meet Beth and Benjamin

It's not every day that a person gets to say they spent two weeks taking care of baby barn owls. But thanks to a very kind donor at St. John's College and a very trusting raptor trainer at Eagles Flying, I got to do just that. I had barely stepped out of the car into the pigeon- and peacock-filled yard of the centre when Lothar told me, "I think you're going to take care of the barn owls." I just shrugged my shoulders and said, "Okay!" Though barn owls weren't my favorite of the raptor world, I wasn't going to turn down an assignment like that.

It was the end of the first day, a bit misty, getting dark. I went out into the barn owl aviary which was home to two adult barn owls and the two "baby" barn owls (I say "baby" because, though they're young, they had all of their adult feathers so didn't really look like fledgling owls). The two as yet unnamed babies were smushed inside a little alcove in the wall, and stared at me suspiciously when I came in. 

I was prepared, though. I had my awesome leather satchel filled with chick meat cut up in bite-sized pieces. I lifted my left hand to them, holding a piece of food, wiggled the fingers of my right hand on top of my left fist (owls have bad eyesight close up and this helps them locate the food), and whistled. They just stared. I did it again. They stared. I did it again. And again. And again. At some point one of them (later to be named "Beth") flew to me once, maybe twice. It was an accomplishment. I chased them around a bit and then brought them into the house. That was Day #1. 

Despite some protests from my housemates, I ended up naming the two Beth and Benjamin. I have no idea if they were male or female, but the names ended up sticking. Beth was the more active flyer, more eager, but more easily distracted. If she flew to my hand and got a chick head, she'd fly to the ground and then proceed to play with it, ignoring me no matter how many times I called to her. Benjamin didn't fly to me as often, but he was much better at stepping up to and down from my hand. Neither of them appreciated when I came to get them in the morning. They would sit on top of their birdcage, just out of my reach. Or, even worse, they'd hang out on top of the bookcase and I would chase them around the various sculptures precariously placed along the surface. Good thing most of them were made out of wood since I or the owls must have knocked them over at least once a day. 

Over the course of two weeks I saw incredible progress. Every morning I retrieved them from the house and released them into their outdoor aviary. Every evening I flight trained them to fly to my hand for food, then brought them back into the house. By the end of the two weeks they would call to me for food as soon as I came walking up the hill. They would fly to me regularly across the entire expanse of their aviary. They would sit on my shoulder and chirp in my ear. They would let me rub the backs of their necks and stroke their feathers. 

Leaving them was really difficult. I wish I could have brought them back to SANC with me, but sadly we can't have non-native raptors in our program. I recently found out that one was sold, probably to the Dublin Zoo. It would be amazing if I ever got to visit and see little Beth or Ben all grown up.

It wasn't a long time, but two weeks was enough for me to bond with these gorgeous, hilarious fluffballs. I will always remember the time they were both so excited to fly to me that they collided in mid-air. Yes. That happened. I will always remember Beth sitting on my shoulder, snuggled in my scarf and my hair. I will always remember holding both owls on one hand, them leaning on each other for support as I hiked through the woods, their little talons wrapped around my finger. Barn owls were never my favorite, but after meeting these two, I'm completely sold. How could I not be?