Today was split evenly between playing golf and holding owls. It must have been a Wednesday.
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| Massive owl (right). |
The bird
handling came first, as you’d expect. The brochure described it as an
‘Encounter With Owls’, which made it sound a little menacing; would they swoop at me down a dark alley? I wouldn’t have been surprised if they had,
the nocturnal rotating-headed bastards.
(Though they can actually only turn their heads 270 degrees – ha: “only” – and they’re not all
nocturnal. Can I start again?)
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| Tiny owls make me smile. |
My encounter was
great. I had expected to see a couple of owls at most, à la a junior-school-barn-owl visit (was mine the only school to do this?), but there were nine or
ten. It cost just £10, and a pound a bird is not to be sniffed at. They came in
all shapes, sizes and breeds - the biggest being an eagle owl, which only the
adults got to hold; the experience would have been tarnished if he'd flown
off with a toddler. We all had the chance to hold the smallest one though (the
appropriately-named little owl) plus a variety of measurements in-between. I hope they're stored babushka style.
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| A small, small owl. |
The session ended
with all willing volunteers (including myself) standing in a line with our
gloved hands held out, catching one bird after the next. At one point I ended
up with a pair of owls in a single hand, which was a breach of the rules; call me the owl
whisperer.
After lunch, we
swapped birds of prey for adventure golf (the politically correct version of the
‘crazy game’ from days of yore.) While it wasn’t particularly adventurous, I
did enjoy it. Somehow, I didn’t embarrass myself. The final score was a photo
finish. Is there such a thing as psychotic swingball?
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| A serious business. |