There were three young owlets in the crate. Two females with toasted marshmallow bellies and a glowing white male. Their calls sounded like air slowly being released from a tire with undertones of a ringwraith, unearthly screams in a pint sized package. We reached their release point, Hazel Bazemore Park - an important migration route for the thousands of raptors skirting the edge of the gulf coast. We unloaded their crate, propping it up on a wooden bannister that overlooked a thick swath of forest. It was dusk, the golden hour, and the sky was filled with the hues of butternut squash, viridian, and candlelight. It was a perfect night for three owlets to return home.
The crate door was opened and the owlets hushed, clustered together at the back and unsure as to what trickery their human captors were playing on them. Was it safe? Was the greenery beyond the open crate door limitless? The first to leave was the largest female; a feisty carmel colored lady who was darker than her sister. She took us all by surprise, shooting out of the crate with silent fury. We fumbled for our cameras and I was lucky enough to get a snapshot of her rocketing into the undergrowth. The next female we were ready for. Her talons scrabbled against the plastic of the crate and she too flew with a quiet intensity into the trees. Last but not least, the male left the sanctity of the crate. He was the most distinct, his coloration standing out immediately against the sky, now muted to pastel colors. I followed his brilliant white and tawny flight into the trees with my camera until he sunk below the foliage.
To release a wild animal back into its native habitat after proper rehabilitation is invigorating. There are three new owlets in the woods of Hazel Bazemore, using their natural adaptations and apex predator instincts to hunt mice to their hearts' content. No more thawed white mice, no more confined spaces. They will be the epitome of free.
