A Close Encounter of the Bird Kind

A few years ago I did a stint as a security guard, working a one-man graveyard shift watching over an empty building. One of my routine duties there was to perform an hourly perimeter check around the outside of the building. The building was located in a good, quiet area and ordinarily there was little to do besides checking doors and windows. But one of those routine patrols turned out to be anything but routine.

I passed by the large flagpole at the front entrance to test the doors when suddenly I heard a vague sound very close by. I used my flashlight to search the bushes and shadows around the entrance, but saw nothing. I told myself it was just an overactive imagination and finished testing the doors. But as I walked out to continue my patrol, I heard a tiny sound somewhere above me.

I did not see it at first, until it moved slightly. A huge Great Horned Owl was perched on the ball at the top of the flagpole. "You scared the devil out of me, you know," I said to the owl, relieved to find that there was no prowler.

I expected the giant bird to take flight at the sound of my voice. Instead, it launched into a long "speech" lasting for several seconds. It "spoke" in a gentle, almost conversational voice. There were none of the hoots or squawks one would expect to hear from an owl, and when it stopped, it waited as though it thought I should reply. It did not seem agitated in the least.

"I don't speak owl," I said when it had finished, "I'm sorry."

Once again, the owl "spoke" for several seconds, and in the same gentle tones. Then it stopped, looking down at me. I got the distinct impression it was trying to say something important. "I'm sorry," I said, "I wish I knew what you're trying to tell me."

The owl spoke again for a third time. This time, when it finished, it raised its left wing. I thought it was preparing to fly away, but it lowered its wing and looked down at me, waiting.

"I don't understand what you want me to do," I said, "Shouldn't you be hunting?" I was beginning to enjoy this strange conversation in a way, although I was glad there was no one else around to watch me talking to a flagpole.

To my surprise, it answered, but this time with only a short phrase. By now, I was beginning to wonder if this amazing bird actually understood what I was saying. While I was pondering what to do next, it raised its left wing, and lowered it a moment later.

The "conversation" continued for a few moments more. Each time the owl finished its part of the discussion, it calmly raised its left wing. Finally, I got the message. I raised my left arm in imitation of its salute. A few seconds later, it flew away into the night.

I completed my rounds and returned to the office, still wondering at my unexpected encounter with the owl. And when my supervisor arrived later, I told him the story. I had forgotten, though, that he was a Native American, and as I told him what had happened, he grew very pale. "Do you know what that means to my people?" he asked. Many Native Americans believe that the call of an owl signifies that the one who hears it will soon die. I tried to tell him that the owl had seemed to be friendly, and that I believed it meant no harm, and he tried to believe me. But after he had gone, I promised myself that I would never speak to him about it again because it had upset him so badly.

Years have gone by now, and I have experienced some very hard spots in my life. But I have never forgotten that giant owl and the conversation I shared with it. I wonder if it was trying to warn me about my future, or if it was trying to tell me that eventually things would get better. Or maybe it wasn't really saying anything at all. When I remember its gentle tones, I choose to believe it was telling me that life would get better. I still think of that giant owl as a friend.