My New Secret Weapon
A Wizard Wheeze?
I joined a small group of my ex-running friends last night to attend an Owl Experience in the Community Hall of a nearby town.
There was an audience of probably a hundred and fifty lined up in rows facing each other. Much folklore tells of the part these birds play in our fates, our moods and our lives generally. The speaker knew so much about these extraordinary animals that I swear he was an owl in human form. Who knows? Perhaps he was.
A succession of owls of increasing size was brought into the hall (not a ‘parliament’, the usual collective noun, as they were introduced individually, to restrict bloodshed) and two young ladies with armoured gloves flew the birds between them. The Ringmaster spoke of each bird with affection, describing not simply their origin and preferred habitat but also their name and their diet; and he related character quirks of each owl. For example, how one tiny owl, when only six months old had spotted and attacked a rat in its aviary. It hadn’t yet got the hang of attacking only prey which it can swallow. He described his amusement at watching this owl hanging onto the rat’s hind quarters as it sped around the cage floor – an owlish version of a bucking bronco, perhaps.
There are many differences between owls and other birds which reveal their specialised hunting techniques – unusually large eyes, shaped faces to gather and amplify sounds and asymmetrical ears to locate prey more accurately. Their large wings enable slow flight, tight turns and swift ascent, while modified, fluffy feathers and serrated wing edges smooth airflow – to demonstrate how quietly owls fly, we were all encouraged to close our eyes at one point, and one of the larger owls was flown the length of the hall. Only its calls demanding food at the other end revealed its new location. A silent, scary predator – if you are a small rodent.
But this mention of rodents brings me to my latest wheeze for dealing with slugs and snails during 2026.
For sure, the little so-and-sos have been lurking since late autumn in all those crevices and hidey holes everywhere in my garden. I know they will continue to roam around throughout the winter if temperatures are mild but that’s mainly to patrol in search of tender, emerging plant shoots.
The afore-mentioned Ringmaster listed a surprising variety of foods attractive to owls. Every owl relishes rodents – the evidence is clear, he said, from digested remains which owl fanciers can break apart for inspection. (Rather you than me, love). But they also adore worms (scarfing them down ‘like spaghetti’, he joked) and …slugs.
Such invertebrates lack hair which is needed for proper pellet formation, but might be an opportunistic meal. And they move more slowly than mice…
Our leader exhorted us to allow some part of our gardens (or a field, if we are landed gentry) to grow longer and shaggier, encouraging proliferation of the owls’ food sources. No problem, I thought to myself. I have only to guide the owls to chez moi where they can stuff themselves stupid, come Spring, 2026.
Taking my dog outside for his final, evening constitutional stroll last night, I was delighted to hear a Tawny owl calling from some nearby trees. This bodes well, ladies and gents, for my proposed ‘All-You-Can-Eat’ Owl Buffet. There’s obviously a market out there.
Now… How to persuade my feathered friends to visit? Send me your ideas and hints, please.
