Last Friday I was getting Mopsa one of Sam’s owls in from the weathering when we were both startled by one of the ferrets jumping at the bars.
I loosened my grip in that split second as Mopsa baited (tried to take flight) and she was free.
She flew up to the top of the soil stack and refused to come down even when offered food; one of the problems of keep them above flight weight.
She obviously wasn’t that comfortable there as every time she spotted one of the dogs next door she scrunched up and pretended to be a stick.
After about an hour of trying to coax her down she had had enough and flew off.
This was especially worrisome as she still had her jesses and leash attached, making her more prone to entanglement.
I put the word out on the internet and made sure local police were aware but heard nothing until this morning.
I received a call from a local man who said he had found her, but alas not alive.
Up until this moment I had held some small hope that she might come back to us alive.
I slowly walked up the road box in hand to collect her, tears in my eyes and trying not break down crying.
When I spoke to him he said that he had also seen a report of another owl missing in Diseworth (a village or two over) and could I be sure it was our owl?
Hope? Could she still be out there?
This was swiftly dashed.
She had managed to remove both her leash and one of her jesses, but this hadn’t saved her. She had died anyway and been found in a pond.
I now sitting here with tears streaming down my face at the crushing realisation that it was my fault she ended this way; that she died through my stupidity.
RIP Mopsa, you will be missed.
As I walk about the house I can still her her faint ter-wit echoing around.