Confrontation with an owl

Are you familiar with this bird? It is the Tropical Screech Owl. Don't worry, I wasn't either until last week, when I ran afoul (get it?) of him. Let me tell you the harrowing story:

Most Saturdays I play racquetball with a guy who takes spanish lessons from me. He is an eye surgeon, and lives in a pretty swank pad in the North of Cali. There is a racquetball court there and he gives me a weekly beating (usually I start with a 10-0 lead, then lose 13-15). I am not too proud to take a beating, so it works.

Anyway, as we got ready to take the court last week after a 2-week absence, we noticed some dirt and bird feces near the door. Hmmm... this should have raised some suspicions, but, as I don't ride around in a van solving mysteries with my dog, I didn't get any sort of feeling. I just waltzed onto the court to clear more debris. Then I noticed something sitting at the far end of the court. At first I thought it was a piece of wood or something. My mind was really cranking trying to figure out what this thing was. You see, owls and racquetball courts don't go together in my universe of discourse, and my brain was struggling to catch up. Then, as it became clearer, I realized I was closer than I wanted to be to this wild animal, and stumbled back a bit, drawing nervous laughter from my companion.

Back out the door we went. We needed to formulate a plan. What would McGuyver do. First, inventory. We had racquetball equipment, a bag, two extra shirts, a small towel, and a long, weathered piece of wood that was leaning against the outside wall.

Plan 1: Roll racquetballs at the owl to scare it. It should then fly away. This plan was based on the false premise that owls are scared of racquetballs. I thought they would be, like any form of technology above owl-level would be frightening. I was wrong. This is science. This is why we do it. So, we proceded to roll racquetballs at the owl. A few misses, then a direct hit. We laughed. The owl hissed at the ball. Its mouth, when open, was huge. It was like half its head opened up. This drew more laughter and conscious positioning toward the door for escape routes. The last ball drew a kind of beak strike from the owl. This plan failed. Back to the drawing board.

Plan 2: Scare the owl away with a display of power using our racquets. The premise here was that, although unintimidated by our superior technology, the bird would fly away in the face of our sheer physical superiority, mental acuity (using tools), and loud voices. I took two racquets: one to flail around menacingly and another to cover my face with in case of owl attack.

So, we stomped and yelled and flailed. The owl hissed and put its wings out to show us its physical presence. I must admit, I was a little intimidated. More than once our display of power was interrupted by the owl doing something unexpected (turning to face us, for example), which drew jumps and unmanly screams. This is especially funny given the macho culture down here. Plan 2 failed. Like Wile E. Coyote, back to the drawing board.

Plan 3: We can obviously get really close to this thing (we were within 2 feet of it at one point). Let's give it a tap and see it fly off. Show it we mean business. And here let me tell you a brief and related story. The whole time I was really the one out front. The Dr. was a little farther behind me. He kept telling me "it can't see you in the daytime, it is kind of blind in daylight" Then the thing proceeded to look RIGHT at me and hiss. I question the veracity of his hypothesis. If it can see well at night, shouldn't it be able to see in the day?

But back to plan 3... So I crept close to the god-aweful, evil looking bird. It was not moving. It was staring me down with its wings out. For a size estimate, I'd say the bird was about the size of an american football. Maybe a little bigger. But with its wings out, it looked at least the size of a basketball. Now would you want a basketball full of wings and talons and beaks flying at your face? So I got within 2 feet again (damned racquetball rackets are short!), and I gently nudged the bird while protecting my face with the other racket. The bird flew up, we panicked and ran back, the bird came back down about 3 feet from where it had been. I turned to look at the Dr., as we both felt the adrenalin surge. While my back was turned, the bird flew up again, scaring the crap out of me.

OK, we've got movement. I decided to be a bit more bold. Have you ever tucked the edge of a tennis racket under a ball on the court floor, then whipped it up quickly, propelling the ball into the air and across the court? Well, it seemed to me that the same principle applied. So, overcoming my fear (kind of), I touched the bird with my racket. It hissed and looked really angry. It would have been angrier if it knew what was coming next. I whipped the bird into the air, and it travelled about 12 feet, then settled back to the ground. Don't worry. I didn't hit it, I merely shoved it. Or shoveled it, or something. It didn't fall. It flew back down.

Emboldened by my success, the Dr. got the large piece of wood (maybe 5 feet long), and used it like a hockey stick to nudge the angry and rumpled bird further toward the door. Again, he took no slapshots, but kind of pushed the reluctant and petulant bird toward the exit. We both took turns moving the bird until it was near then door. I had to get closer than I would have liked to in order to position it in front of the door. Then, triumphantly, I shut the door, pushing it outside. No feathers were lost, and the whole process took about 20 minutes.

relieved, I opened the door to our stuff. But like some horror movie, where the antagonist can never quit be killed, the owl was still there, right outside the door! That scared the hell out of me. I slammed the door shut, and cursed at the bird, calling him stupid and worse. The Dr. however, had an insight. The owl was not stupid. We were the only people who used the court. We hadn't played in about 2 weeks, so the bird had flown in the open window and set up a nice, roomy home. He was fighting against eviction. He didn't want to leave. Evidenced by the amount of bird droppings, he was used to this place.

So, in one last effort, I cracked the door, and nudged the bird again with my racket and it was off, flying high over the apartment complex and away. That was the last straw and the owl decided to find a new place...

or retreated to his hide-out to plot his revenge.