Owling Birthday

Last weekend was my birthday dinner. As I journeyed home, i suppose i should have known the night would be weird seeing as on my way home there was a clearence sale at the gun store; nonetheless i carried on. My house is a cross between a murderer's paradise and a place that would be perfect for growing weed. The point is it's in the middle of nowhere and if things didn't go well and my parents got me more airplane booze no one could hear them scream as i quietly beat them with small bottles. The evening started off normal enough-my parents have become mildly obsessed with happy hour (and, oddly enough, biscotti) and so we had libations and cheese. We talked of this and that, despite the fact that i was in close-to-paralyzing fear about what was wrapped in cartoon paper sitting in the living room.

For some reason my mother thought it wise to drink to my 22 years as well as my father's new change as he slipped out of the working class and into a life of leisure (and if he has his way, gleefully making weather vanes for all those who need to know where the wind blows). The house was filled with things from his office cubical: a 900-pound coat rack he black smithed, and signs from homeless people that he decided he should collect. It occured to me that my father's cubical could have been on hoarders, and i was happy if i could get out of the house without inheriting any of his bum sign collection.

Anyway somehow we got on the subject of owl calls, yes that was not a typo, there may have been some wine from my father ex-colege. My mother, an avid bird observer, swore that the way to remember a great horned owl was from its distinctive call "who cooks for you you you". My father, whose commuting partner was a professional owl caller, told him a different story.

And so my birthday dinner was spent with my father hooting over and over and my mother on the verge of divorce. My sister, the diplomat that she is, googled the owl call and we found that my father's very convincing owl call was indeed the correct one.

Not only was this issue put to bed but i realized that my mother had been lying to me all these years and when we had hunted for an owl that only seem to appear in our chicken coop for a good nibble, we were hunting in vain. In the end i received pillow cases, no booze, travel-size or otherwise, and somehow that 6,000 pound coat rack is in my car. I did learn some lessons, my loveable literary, and that is that one should always ask for things for one's birthday, that alcohol and bird calls do not mix, and that i wish i made this up.