Letters

Letters 08-31-2015

Inalienable Rights This is a response to the “No More State Theatre” in your August 24th edition. I think I will not be the only response to this pathetic and narrow-minded letter that seems rather out of place in the northern Michigan that I know. To think we will not be getting your 25 cents for the movie you refused to see, but more importantly we will be without your “two cents” on your thoughts of a marriage at the State Theatre...

Enthusiastically Democratic Since I was one of the approximately 160 people present at when Senator Debbie Stabenow spoke on August 14 in Charlevoix, I was surprised to read in a letter to Northern Express that there was a “rather muted” response to Debbie’s announcement that she has endorsed Hillary Clinton for president...

Not Hurting I surely think the State Theatre will survive not having the homophobic presence of Colleen Smith and her family attend any matinees. I think “Ms.” Smith might also want to make sure that any medical personnel, bank staff, grocery store staff, waiters and/or waitress, etc. are not homosexual before accepting any service or product from them...

Stay Home I did not know whether to laugh or cry when I read the letter of the extremely homophobic, “disgusted” writer. She now refuses to patronize the State Theatre because she evidently feels that its confines have been poisoned by the gay wedding ceremony held there...

Keep Away In response to Colleen Smith of Cadillac who refused to bring her family to the State Theatre because there was a gay wedding there: Keep your 25 cents and your family out of Traverse City...

Celebrating Moore And A Theatre I was 10 years old when I had the privilege to see my first film at the State Theatre. I will never forget that experience. The screen was almost the size of my bedroom I shared with my older sister. The bursting sounds made me believe I was part of the film...

Outdated Thinking This letter is in response to Colleen Smith. She made public her choice to no longer go to the State Theater due to the fact that “some homosexuals” got married there. I’m not outraged by her choice; we don’t need any more hateful, self-righteous bigots in our town. She can keep her 25 cents...

Mackinac Pipeline Must Be Shut Down Crude oil flowing through Enbridge’s 60-yearold pipeline beneath the Mackinac Straits and the largest collection of fresh water on the planet should be a serious concern for every resident of the USA and Canada. Enbridge has a very “accident” prone track record...

Your Rights To Colleen, who wrote about the State Theatre: Let me thank you for sharing your views; I think most of us are well in support of the first amendment, because as you know- it gives everyone the opportunity to express their opinions. I also wanted to thank Northern Express for not shutting down these types of letters right at the source but rather giving the community a platform for education...

No Role Model [Fascinating Person from last week’s issue] Jada quoted: “I want to be a role model for girls who are interested in being in the outdoors.” I enjoy being in the outdoors, but I don’t want to kill animals for trophy...

Home · Articles · News · Books · Wesley the Owl
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Wesley the Owl

Elizabeth Buzzelli - March 16th, 2009
Wesley the Owl
Stacey O’Brien
Free Press Publishers
$23.00

By Elizabeth Buzzelli 3/23/09

Rene Descartes was wrong. The 17th century philosopher/mathematician/scientist declared absolutely that animals do not possess real feelings and with that pronouncement he wiped away centuries of experiential evidence. Then came B.F. Skinner in the 20th century likening animals to furry automatons. They care nothing for anything or anyone beyond their own survival, scientists proclaimed. A lab’s head in your lap when you’re crying means only that your lap is a convenient place to rest. A cat draping herself over your shoulders and purring in your ear signifies an automatic response. A bird needing to cuddle exhibits nesting instinct. They can’t love; can’t care about each other or anything else; don’t grieve; don’t worry...
Twaddle and hogwash, said Jane Goodall after her years of close observation of apes in their native habitat as they loved and mourned and interacted in complex ways, exploding the ‘furry automaton’ myth to pieces.
Now comes a charming little book about a girl and her owl, capturing the imagination of animal lovers everywhere and once again opening a world of possibility.
Wesley the Owl: The Remarkable Love Story of an Owl and His Girl by Stacey O’Brien, isn’t about anthropomorphizing her feathered friend, Wesley, but about finding true affection and continued understanding between two such disparate creatures as a biologist and a barn owl.

BROKEN WING
Wesley came into Stacey O’Brien’s life in 1985, when he was four days old, brought to the California Institute of Technology where O’Brien worked as a biologist, because his wing was badly injured and it was doubtful he would ever fly. Wesley was in need of a permanent home since he couldn’t exist in the wild as he was.
O’Brien writes: “The little owl was so tiny and helpless he couldn’t even lift his head or keep himself warm. His eyes weren’t open yet, and except for a tuft of white down feathers on his head and three rows of fluff along his back, his body was pink and naked.”
From that first moment O’Brien dedicated herself to the small bird, learning, in sometimes painful increments, what she came to call “the way of the owl.”
As a scientist, O’Brien welcomed the opportunity to study a barn owl in close quarters and agreed to keep notes on Wesley’s behavior over the ensuring years, keeping him in her home—even as she moved again and again—for the next 19 years.
As with so many purely academic pursuits involving animals, it wasn’t long before the relationship grew caring and concerned, therefore emotional. Both woman and owl came to depend on each other; to exhibit stress when they were apart; and relief when they were back together, often indulging in cuddling behaviors and wild displays of happiness.
Years passed and Wesley became a firm center in O’Brien’s life. His taste in boyfriends was loud and raucous, breaking up more than one relationship Stacy had formed. He was never shy with his opinions of people, scaring most away, not letting the ones he didn’t like near him. As if a barometer of the worthy, those accepted by Wesley were allowed to enter his room, clean up his messes, bring him a juicy dead mouse, and even touch his feathers. Others were greeted by screeches and daring feats of flying which could involve claws.

MICE FOR DINNER
It would take a scientist, such as O’Brien, to endure Wesley’s diet, consisting only of mice—both dead and alive. Providing these live mice for Wesley didn’t faze O’Brien, except when the mice escaped in her car or when they took off during a fancy dinner party at her house.
For the squeamish, tales of flying mouse guts and mass mouse killing might be a bit much. Still, it’s worth it to stay with this memoir. As Stacey and Wesley grew closer the story of their odd inter-species respect and emotional connection proves what most animal lovers have always known. Ask any dog lover if his dog is without emotion. If worry, love, shame, anger aren’t part of their pet’s personality. Now it seems even birds have their own form of love.
Stories abound, in literature and common knowledge, of animals responding with emotion and even forethought. I was recently treated to a crow story which broke my heart. A friend was driving home from work when she saw a flutter of black feathers ahead of her in the road. She stopped. The commotion was caused by a distraught crow leaping and flying to the side of his dead mate, lying in the road, killed by a car. Crows mate for life. This crow, the woman told me, would land next to his mate, throw back his head and make the most mournful of gurgling sounds deep in his throat. Even with her car stopped close by, the crow refused to leave his mate’s side, continuing his mourning as she pulled away.
Desert travelers have reported coming on raven gatherings where the birds congregate around a central spot, much like an altar, staying for several days as more birds continued arriving to attend their strange, communal ceremony.
This winter, while traveling much too fast on a northern back road, my car was suddenly attacked by crows. Crows threw their bodies at me, narrowly missing the windshield. They swooped and dived, forcing me to slow my car. I’d found myself connecting to crows lately but never received attention like this. A couple of hundred feet further on, the road surface turned to pure ice. I controlled my car because I’d slowed way down. I don’t know what brought on the crow attack, but I’m grateful.
O’Brien tells of how 21st century science is slowly awakening to the differences between species and what those differences tell us. She writes: “Scientists used to think bird’s brains were simpler than those of mammals, now we think they may be just as complex, but in a very different way... Even with different structures taking on different functions, however, the groups developed similar kinds of intelligence, so similar, in fact, that we can communicate and share emotions with each other.”
Science aside, thousands of years of friendship and interdependence can’t be wrong. If someone would have given Descartes a parrot, or a poodle, experience and reciprocated emotion would have pointed out the error of his ways.
Maybe we live in a Dr. Doolittle world after all, with Wesley the Owl leading the way.

Elizabeth Buzzelli’s mystery novel, “Dead Floating Lovers,” second in the Emily Kincaid series, will be out in July.



 
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