One summer, when I was eight, a pair of owls came to live in one of the mango trees in our yard. We were alerted to their presence by the crows who, terrified of this brazen incursion into their territory, spent the entire morning cawing and clawing for what was rightfully theirs. By the time we realized the source of all the ruckus, one of the owls had succumbed to its injuries and the other was only barely holding on. Which was when we decided that something had to be done. My brother, in his infinite ten-year-old wisdom suggested capturing the surviving owl and raising him as a pet. Of course, we named him Hedwig. My parents, on the other hand, were ambivalent. Keeping a pet is not easy, they said, and we don’t know anything about owls. But the next day an aunt, whom I was meeting for the first time, came to stay with us and with my parents thus occupied, my brother and I decided to keep Hedwig anyway.
This story was written as part of The Ray Bradbury Project. I’m writing one story a week for a year (or as long as I can keep it up). You can read the previous installments by checking out the tags on the right!