Not ten minutes after I get back from my owl patrol, I hear the heelers charging the front door.

A little girl from down the block. She's quite serious, but also quite intimidated (by me and the uniform, not the heelers; they are out sniffing her hands). The words "little prairie dog, might hurt or shoot, they shoot cats, rabbits" kind of come out in a stream.

Eventually we work out that her school class took a picnic to the park (across from the hotel where the owls are) for lunch. And she found a little prairie dog in a little hole in the park. And the boy who shoots cats if they come in his yard, because they have pet rabbits, was throwing sticks at the prairie dog.

And yes, the teacher stopped him, but this girl was concerned he would go back after school. Which is now.

She is really worried about the little prairie dog.

I ask if she can show me the hole. Yes, but she'll have to ask her Mom. Good kid. I shouldn't have asked. Buddy system, you know.

So I get exact directions to the prairie dog hole. She knows it's a prairie dog, not a ground squirrel, because of the short white tail. Now how sophisticated is that? Most adults around here call 'em all "gophers." We're probably talking second grade, here folks. (I should mention that the last four sentences had been a parenthetical reference, but since at least one of you hates writers who use lots of parentheses I deleted them. I'm trying to cut down.)

She heads home while I hoof over to the park, tossing a glance at the owls as I go. And find the prairie dog hole under the hedge, just like she said. Prairie dog included. Two, actually.

No kid throwing sticks. Just a hungry owl and her owlets watching from across the street.

The stick-throwing kid is the least of the rodents' problems.