Crouched behind the fallen tree we watched as the old man climbed down from the tree with the eggs. The mother watched from the limbs high above waiting cautiously. She has seen the old man before and each time he has been gentle. The mother trusted him but was watchful for any sign of peril to her babies.
He told us to be quiet. Do you know how hard it is to be quiet when tittering on dried leaves and broken twigs? The old man finally made his way over to the muddy truck. We were deep into the woods, watching life unfold before our eyes. But nothing prepared us for what we were about to see.
The old man set the eggs down on the back of the truck. One was already cracked and rolling around. Time stood still as the mother swooned down closer. The old man told us she would come right up to us if stay calm and quiet. The old man had found the eggs abandoned and took them to her nest hoping nature would takes its course.
Suddenly, one of the eggs began tipping and wobbling. We could hear the clucking sound of baby inside chipping away at the shell. And then it happened. Pieces of the shell fell around and the beak poked through. A wing awkwardly stretched out.
This is in response to Sunday Scribblings prompt Dragon. This passed weekend my family had the pleasure of witnessing two baby Barred Owls be tagged and weighed a biologist/ natural habitat specialist. The Owls were nested in a tall oak about 100 metres from our cottage. The babies looked like small dragons. At least that is what my imagination saw.