Winston and Wynona

Dear Readers,
Molly the Border Collie reporting.

I am exhausted.

You will remember that I had flown to Galveston Texas to straighten out the owls and the romantic mess they were in. To recap, Wynona Owl had a crush on Winston Owl, who was besotted by Sadie Jetson the human, who had it bad for Yehudi, the taiko drum player from Vancouver.

 My first chore was to  round up the remaining eight hamsters running loose in Sadie home. Being a herding dog, I was pleased to be able to put my innate skills to good use, although the temptation to eat them was strong indeed. Then I loaded the hamsters into a box, wrapped it in shiny read paper and tied a red velvet ribbon around it.

Next I sent a paw-written note to each of the owls:

“If you’re looking for  love, meet me at the  red and white barn on pig farm hill tonight at midnight.

 

A secret admirer”

Finally, I prepared a love nest for the owls - 

owl nesting box


 complete with a Jacuzzi and rose petals sprinkled on the bed.

For mood music, I recorded the scratching sounds mice make as the run through the rafters. Then I hid behind some straw bales and waited.

Winston was the first to arrive with a “what the . . .” expression on his face. Wynona flew in a couple of minutes later.

I had hoped to see courting behavior. Instead, Winston scratched his hind end, seemingly taking no notice of Wynona.

“Hello, Winston,” Wynona clucked. And she hid her face under a wing, overcome by shyness.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I got this note . . .” she began. “Oh, what a beautiful box! I wonder what’s inside it.” She flew down to the hamster box and tore it open with her sharp talons.

“Mine,” screeched Winston, snatching a hamster right out of Wynona’s claws.

Oh, bother! What would it take to get these two lovebirds together? (And I use the term "lovebirds" loosely.) They were clicking, at each other, and Winston even took a swipe at Wynona with his claw, (the one that wasn't holding the hamster).

There was only one card left to play. I replaced the CD of scratching mice with a rendition of “Owl Be Seeing You.” As the soulful music echoed through the barn and down the slopes of pig farm hill, the owls’ angry clicking was replaced by cooing and soft, vibrating hoots that would melt the heart of a chicken. (All chicken are stupid.) Winston, leaned against Wynona, who gently preened Winston’s feathers and nodded her head up and down in time to the music. I left the two of them alone. My job was completed. If all goes well, there will be owlets next spring.

This is Matchmaker Molly, signing off.