The older brother, glanced at his kid brother, his chest puffed with the excess knowledge of a grade school boy…”Aww Ed, it’s just an old hoot owl. Keep going or mom will tar our pants.”
Russ and Ed kept walking toward the home, but the call of the hoot owl was more than a regular boy’s curiosity could withstand. They followed the call until they located the owl sitting about 20 feet above the forest floor in an old withered tree. They walked with care around the tree, their eyes upon the old owl as they circled.
Ed leaned over to his older brother and hissed, “How does he do that? It ain’t natural”.
Russell nodded, taking Ed’s arm as they continued to circle around the tree. “Let’s try to catch him turning his head round.”
In the dusky hour they continued to circle the tree, their eyes straining to watch the owl.
That’s where my grandpa found them a half hour after they were supposed to be home for dinner. Watching the boys continue to circle around and around the tree, he finally stopped them to ask what in “Sam’s hill” they were doing.
Great seriousness had deepened their voices as Ed explained, “Pa, it’s a hoot owl!”
Russ continued, “So we've been walking around and around trying to catch him spinnin' his head back to the front. He ain't done it so we've been waitin' for his head to unscrew. It’s been an hour and that ain’t happened neither!”