We were headed to the beach with a picnic when my eagle-eyed (hehe) wife spotted a baby owl on the side of the road.
She called me and the Chica over to look and the owl panicked and flew a few feet into some tall grass. We crept closer, just to take a picture. It was then we say that the little bird was covered in big, red ants. Ahhh! Nobody likes red ants!
I grabbed a small stick and started brushing off the ants, but the little owl was at the base of a brick wall with a stream of ants headed his way. There were too many, with more on the way!
The poor little owl was in distress! We had to help him! But what to do?
“Pick him up and move him away from the ants!” Vero said to me.
“Are you out of your mind?” I replied, “look at his sharp little beak!”
After a chorus of “We have to help him!” from the kids, I took the Little Fella’s ( the boy, not the owl) hat and gently dropped it on his head ( the owl, not the boy). Veeerryy gingerly I scooped up the little owl in the hat, and raised my eyes to see the specter of death staring at me. A large grey cat on the wall, just watching. Not quite licking his lips, but you could see him thinking it.
I shuddered a little, looked at the owl in the hat, looked at my wife, and said “Now what?”.