He came to us by way of a friend who knew that we have a great deal of experience out here at Brownspur in rehabilitating injured or immature wildlife. Since he originated at the farm that Big Robert used to call “The old Millsaps Place,” and since son Adam graduated from Millsaps College, playing a lot of championship baseball there for the Millsaps Majors, we named him “Major.”
Major was a half-grown great horned owl, who apparently came off second-best in an encounter with a catfish pond paddlewheel. He had major equilibrium problems when he came to Brownspur, to the point that we sometimes wondered if his owl momma had maybe had an affair with a vampire bat, or something similar. He’d be calmly sitting on Adam’s gloved hand, and would start to lean slightly forward, without noticing, it seemed. He’d lean until he actually fell over, but his claws would cling ever-tighter to the supporting hand, and there he’d be, hanging upside-down from Adam’s hand, apparently content to survey the world from this batlike position. After a few minutes, Adam would gently push him back upright, and the process would start all over again, though maybe backwards this time.
We have previously hosted and rehabbed a full-grown great horned owl, a nearly-grown barred owl, four screech owls, and two full-grown hawks, and all but one of the hawks and one screech owl recovered and were released back into the wild. At any rate, we have owl rehab experience, which needs to be done under the supervision of a vet, as per the law. Major flat needed the rehab. The first few times we tried to turn him loose, he flew smackdab into light poles and trees.
Adam took him under his wing, so to speak, and became Major’s momma in the young owl’s eyes, that was obvious. When Adam would walk out of the house in the morning or after he got home from work, we could hear Major popping his beak like a 22 rifle shot, in greeting. They had a game, in which Major would run to the corner of the pen when Adam opened it, and do a little dance, then hop aboard the extended gloved hand and ride. He loved to visit the Swimming Hole and had his own special perch in a small cypress there, from which he’d survey his family afloat, like a lifeguard. The mockingbirds who nested in the big cypress never adjusted to having an owl for a guest, and harassed Major hatefully.
We essentially emptied the freezer of squirrel and rabbit, which he preferred by far over chicken. Adam would perch Major on his hand (ungloved, after the owl showed he’d not hurt him) and offer him pieces of meat with the other hand. He’d mock-roughly grab the meat and swallow it down until he got full, at which point he’d still reach out and grab the meat, but would hold it for a moment in his beak, then drop it to the floor for Blondie, the Lab, to clean up. Eventually, Major learned to perch on Blondie’s back, but the Lab wasn’t atall comfortable with that.
My guess is that his momma had done this to get the little owl ready to leave the nest and attack paddlewheels, but he had the funniest ritual: Adam would place his finger against Major’s upper beak, and the owl would lower his head and push so hard against the finger, that if Adam suddenly moved it, the owl would fall over forward. He’d let us stroke his head, and loved for you to scratch the back of his head, but you had to approach him from the front to do it. To sneak up and reach out to scratch from behind was to invite a snap that might bring blood. An owl’s beak is a powerful weapon, like his talons. And don’t touch his (or her?) breast!
Major eventually learned to accept, but never really liked, bike riding with Adam. Not on the handlebars, though: he still wanted to be on that gloved hand. He hated motors, and after he once panicked at the approaching lawn mower, we had to mow completely on the other side of the house from him. Adam once left for a four-day visit with Mountain Willy, and I took over the feeding duties, but he was sure glad when his real momma came home!
Well, Major finally recovered, after spending the summer with us, and we turned him loose. Now and then, we still hear him popping his beak in greeting. He was a pleasure to have for a guest, except for the mockingbirds and blue jays!