Spirit Guides

I'd never seen an owl outside of a cage before. Even when others were pointing at barn rafters or up into trees, “There; there it is, can't you see it? That's the biggest barn owl I've ever seen!” I would usually end up nodding and making unconvincing 'ahhh' sounds as if I'd seen it. My husband has the habit of grabbing the top of my head, and attempting to line me up with his nose and extended arm like a gun site. It never works. Mostly because he is over 6 feet tall and I'm 5 foot 3 in my dreams.

I've seen owl pellets and heard their calls recorded in excruciating detail. There are so many different types of piercing calls to differentiate between all owls, lesser and greater, burrowing and nesting, snowy and barn.

Mind you I'm not a very woodsy type person. I used to like camping in tents and being out in the crisp cold air of a mountain site or down by some river relentlessly carving it's destiny through sandstone and granite. That was back in the days when I could play along the river bank or explore the mountainside while my mother aired the sleeping bags, made lunch, did the dishes, took the sleeping bags back down before it was time to start supper.

Now I'm the mom and the closest thing to camping I'll do is staying at a Super 8 Motel. Not exactly the traditional mom way of doing things, I realize but times have changed. Even though hers and mine were one income families, my spouse brings in nearly double the teacher's salary my father earned.

It was one of those beautiful dry, clear, crisp November nights that occasionally bless our end of the island. The PAC meeting had ended early enough I felt comfortable walking home despite it being after dark. Peaceful moments I could hoard all to myself were still a rarity and to splurge one on a velvet black night was a moment not to be wasted on urban paranoia and old wives tales.

I was walking down Lampson Street, towards the busy traffic on Esquimalt road but far enough away that the cars were just lights flashing by without much sound. Then I saw a sinuous shape in the air ahead of me, a broad span of wings that made no noise as they came closer until I could see only the wings and two enormous yellow eyes. It changed direction going around me and with one indifferent flap, up to the top of a nearby telephone pole.

I've never seen one before but there was no doubt in my mind this was a bird deserving of the name “Great” something. A picture clicked in place and I knew I was looking at a Great Horned Owl. Even at the top of the pole that was twenty feet away from me, it easily dwarfed any local bird I'd ever seen swinging on phone lines or hopping across the road after a bit of tasty garbage.

We stared at each other for a few minutes. I was thankful, for probably the first time in my life, not to be a mouse, and for having been on that particular block at that particular moment in time.

With a shrug, the beast lifted itself into the air, again no sound from its wings to betray the master of the night. I stumbled home laughing and babbling silly things in an attempt to get my story right for the telling when I burst through the door.

As soon as I got home and as soon as there was an appropriate break in the reality game show action, I acquainted my family with the adventure I'd had on my way home. I kept the chatter up while I finished the inevitable dishes left behind from my youngest daughter's turn at cleaning up. And I barely noticed when the phone range. I shouted for someone, anyone to raise their attentive bottoms from the comfort of the couch and answer that damn phone.

It's never good news when the phone rings after 9:30 p.m. No one phones after 9:00 to announce you've been randomly selected for a complete home make over or an all expenses paid vacation for your family to a resort in the Azores.

My sister was quiet and firm. Dad was in hospital, a stroke. The doctors didn't know how bad it would be for a little while yet. The chances of his recovery were not good but there was still hope.

It was two days later my sister drove me directly from the airport to the hospital. Another owl swooped through the headlights, night hunting in the fields outside of Edmonton.

That was my one chance to say good bye to Dad. The angel came for him one night later. I've never seen an owl since, which suits me just fine. I can go the rest of my life without another sighting and then, at the end, I know it'll be a Great Horned Owl to show me the way.