Let’s take another look at our friend The owl.
This time from the side. What an awesome, should I say Majestic, Creature. We constantly “Mr. owl” as merely saying “who,” but the owls around my house say some amazingly verbose poems. Or at least I’m calling them that.
It’s really resembles a monkey soliloquy on occasion.
The first time I heard it late at night I had no idea what was going on. And they do have conversations, I can tell you that.
As a matter of fact my closest encounter to an hour will happened when I was sleeping on top of the Ryder truck in the Texas desert. Don’t ask. When I say sleeping, I am using that term loosely Because it was kind of a half sleep, but all of the sudden a giant form flew right over my face and scooped up hey small rodent. I thought it was a dream. But the owl didn’t turn into Phyllis Diller or a bar of soap or anything. Things in my dreams usually turn into stuff. This guy just stayed an owl.