Birds of Prey

A jolt of lightning struck a tree, a bird's nest with newborn barn owls perished in the force of nature. As the morning sun cleared the storm, hikers explored the wreckage. A tree cut in half and charred. Leaves and twigs camouflaged the walking paths. A small squeak called out. The creature that would change my life forever would be called Ollie.

Ollie was one of nine birds of prey that occupied the nature center in the middle of Georgia. Her neighbors were of a motley crew, all with different backgrounds and colorful personalities that brought them there.

On Ollie's far-left lived Jasmine. A Barred Owl with cataracts in both eyes, her stare was so haunting she looked as if she stared into your soul and knew every regret. Shy, reserved, and wary. She was relocated here after she was caught in a wire fence.

On Ollies direct left lived Pontiac.

Pontiac was a woman of few words. She was slow and weak from a car accident that hit her mid-flight. I'll give you one guess what kind of car hit her.

To Ollies right, she had the insatiable H. For the life of me, I cannot remember the name of this bird. I can remember that she never stopped talking. A one-eyed Great Horned Owl that was also the victim to a sharp fence.

Across the way from Ollie lived a dark duo. Two sets of vultures.

The two Turkey-Headed vultures didn't like company, so I didn't spend much time with them. But the Black-Headed vultures, Gomez and Morticia, were comedians. Shoelace takers and stick throwers, they were always ready to heckle.

Lastly, Jiffy.

This little guy was a mystery to me. A danger to himself, he was not a functional flyer. He resided in the hummingbird enclosures to keep him from throwing himself and hitting walls. Every day, someone had to open his pen. When his wings spread open and feathers ruffled, he was saying thank you.

Cleaning up after a community theatre rehearsal, a mom of one of the younger kids heard that I wanted to work with animals. She told me of a local nature center that was looking for volunteers. That was enough information for me to visit that weekend. And I would visit every weekend after that for two years.

My first weekend volunteering, friendships and family were at a climax of complications, and I needed any reason to escape. I didn't imagine I would be handling animals or feeding them. I just wanted to have something to accomplish every week. Something that didn't require a strenuous effort but rather a little time and heart. Cleaning bird cages brimmed with pellets and poo was a time when my life was at its simplest.

There was a lot of death at the center. What felt calming was that the animals did not die alone or agonize in pain. When they would pass, it was a peaceful transition in the hands of the center. A reality that motivated the value of cleaning up after them when I volunteered. These injured animals did not think of themselves as broken. To them, a missing eye, a bad hip, a wonky flight pattern was enough because of a natural acceptance that that was their grip on the world.

I spent much of my teenage years wishing for things to not be the way they were. Hoping for a different body, brain, personality. As a queer kid with family issues and distant friends, a fair amount of growing pains festered into self-loathing. I saw my healthy body and capable brain as something broken out of a comparison I made on the assumption that everyone else had it all figured out.

The director and senior volunteers saw my enthusiasm dim over the months. Not for lack of love for the work but external forces chipping away to my core.

"Do you want to hold Ollie?"

"Yes," would have been redundant to the many times my head shook up and down. The director pulled out a worn, brown leather glove. Wood chips crunched under our heavy boots on the walk over to Ollie's enclosure. I was instructed to hook her ankle bracelet to the latch, gently pull her from her perch, and raise the glove at shoulder level. Birds like to remain on high ground, so if you don't keep your arm high enough, you might find a bird on your head.

We pushed the rusty wire cage door. Ollie peered down from her perch with all of her quiet wisdom. Gentle intimidation to remind me to be careful. Ollie was a professional. She had lived in human care since the strike of lightning. She was a teacher of the finesse it takes to handle a wild animal.

Suddenly, with a click and a tug, this small creature became huge in the hook of my hand. My bicep ached to keep her steady. Her head bobbed side to side to counter any error I made to her balance. A stoic force, she settled to the stroking of my finger on her chest.

My weekends after were now about building and keeping trust with Ollie. A gift that the nature center trusted me with to honor. Monday through Friday were countdowns to return to teaching guests about the local wildlife, cleaning the center, and getting to know a great friend at my hand. If I failed a test, got in an argument, messed something up, all of that noise was quiet at the center.

I arrived early Saturday morning. Starting on my chores, I made my way to the supply closet to be stopped by terrible news. Ollie had escaped. She was on a falconer glove with another volunteer, outside of her enclosure, when the ankle leash snapped, and she was gone. Since she was an imprinted animal, there was a low chance of her survival. I was devastated.

Returning to my duties was not the same. More weekends passed, no sign of Ollie remained. Volunteering went from every weekend to every other to none at all. Gomez and Morticia's antics lost their charm, Jasmine's eyes didn't pierce my soul, and the chatter of H became noise. I couldn't see the joy any longer, no matter how much I loved the center and its other animals. I regret not staying after Ollie disappeared, but her empty cage cast a long shadow.

A few weeks before graduation, I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. The voice, familiar and warm announced, "Ollie was found. She's back at the center!"

To celebrate, I brought my friends to greet a long lost one on her return. It was a bittersweet reunion as I was leaving for college in a matter of days.

She was the same force since I last saw her. My revelation upon seeing her starry eyes was that I was such a sad person when we last saw each other. I had used the center and this creature to avoid and escape myself. With time apart, I was different. I had changed into someone slow to anger and present for happiness.

It was, nonetheless, like old times. Without a glove and a little tug, she perched on my bare hand, claws lightly poking. We caught up on all we had grown on. Ollie, an unshakable force. Myself, in constant change.