Was moving a sprinkler Saturday evening when one of our local families came peddling by. And stopped to visit. Mother asked if I found the dead bird they told me about earlier in the week.

Nope. But looked. She tries giving me directions again, in relation to so-and-so's house, and their driveway, and then apologizes on being so poor at it.

Okay. At least now I know it is on the street we're talking on. I point out the construction crew two blocks down.

Is it this side of them, or the other side?

Only at this point does she think to look. And realize where she is. It's by Stan's driveway. If I had binocs, I could see it from where I stand. She could have pointed to it.

One of the frustrations with this job is the inability folks have sometimes in giving directions. They tried to tell me about a roadkilled antelope that showed up that day. After a series of vague answers to my questions, I finally establish that "...so, it's just across from the new Highway shop?"

"Yes."

So, why didn't they just say so in the first place?

Anyway, the point of bringing up this conversation? We naturally got to the owls. (Every conversation in town eventually gets to the owls... at least the ones I've been in). She also is concerned for the owlets, afraid for when they will fledge.

Not for cars and semis. She's worried about kids.

Okay, we have a couple in town I would worry about, but not many. I look at her eldest daughter, in her bike helmet, and tell the mother most of the kids in town are good with animals. If the owlets fall out during the day, I expect to hear about it within ten minutes. From the kids.

Mother is surprised. Daughter is beaming.

You see, she and a couple friends were knocking on my door about an injured bird earlier this week.

Wife pointed out the bloating buck antelope carcass this morning when we went into town for brunch for Father's Day. Proud to be telling me about my job.

Yep, already knew about that.

She doesn't need to know all my secrets.

They say this state is a small town with really long streets. As demonstration, the small urban bear problem that Kim was involved with, some 300 miles away, and made the front page of their local paper?

Also made our local paper on Friday. Different picture, though. And I know one of the guys involved in the chase. His old girlfriend here in our town still asks about him.

Small town.

After walking down to check the dead bird (a grackle, long deceased, of no value for collecting), ran into another neighbor out moving his sprinkler. We are only separated by a fence, but I'm sure it's been over a year since we've spoken.

But talk to their collie, Chewy, regularly through the fence.

He's got questions about access and mining claims on the National Forest. After talking shop, and leaning on his fence, I have to ask.

I point to the Star Spangled Banner by his porch that has been serving full duty, 24/7, since late September. And ask... Is that poor thing ever going to get inside? Or is it just gonna stay there until it rots off?

He states, proudly even, that it will probably be there until it rots. And then he'll get another one.

So, now I know. That flag is not an emblem of his country, nor a demonstration of support for our fighting forces.

It is has become a personal icon of his determination.

Not sure how I feel about that.

He also informed me they had to put Chewy down on Tuesday. After 25 years of companionship.

Know how I feel about that.

Another little girl from the next block came by Sunday afternoon, with a box. And I guessed right. Inside was a baby bird. Another grackle. Extremely weak, and limp. Also inside was a jar lid of bird seed and a small cup of water.

Somebody tried to help on their own, before coming to me. And now it is probably too late. Usually is.

I explain the baby should have been left where it was. That the parents would be looking for it, bringing it food. Even after it left the nest.

"But what if somebody found it? What if it was in the grass?"

Pretty young to be speaking in hypotheticals.

Being in the grass is where it belongs right now. She points to the bare skin between the neck and wing, believing it injured. I explain that those feathers just haven't grown in yet.

It is too late for this chick, but perhaps it can be used to save the next.

I tip over the stump holding the squirrel feeder and grab a sowbug, crushing it between my fingers. And with a pinky nail open the grack's mouth. A push with the pen, and the bug is swallowed. I go for another. And the little girl leaves.

A few more sowbugs, and several drops of water later, I set the box under the cherry tree, a cardboard nest in the shade.

A half hour later the square nest is just a box with a dead bird in it.

Had the urge to get out of here this evening, so the heeler sisters and I loaded up to check the bloating antelope carcass "by the new Highway shop."

He's quite bloated now, after a couple days of heat. Probably as taut as a football, but I didn't need to find out. Used a small rock to pull back his lips to see his incisors, and got all the information I needed.

At least four years old.

Sisters seemed quite astonished I didn't load the smelly, bloody thing into the truck. It was only a couple hours to dinner time. To their eyes and noses, a dead, rotten antelope could be really useful for feeding the pack.

The Alpha female hunted Mexican dinners instead. Probably less palatable to the canids, but much more satisfying to the bipeds.

Parked and watched the owlets after checking the antelope. Most of the down is gone off the larger of the two. Fledging can't be far off.

In the event we humans have to intervene, which I consider likely, I have just about decided to place any owlet that survives the drop to the sidewalk up in the giant blue spruce in the median island.

Yes, it is surrounded on all sides by the main street, which gets heavy traffic at every shift change. But none of the deciduous trees in the nearby park provide enough covering branches, and the conifers there are still too small.

The parents clearly favor the big spruce. And the branches are neatly staggered around the trunk from about two meters up clear to the top. Easier for novices to climb and stay in.

Wonder if the town would consider a temporary reduction in the speed limit around the island? With little "Owl Crossing" signs? They might. Know the Police Chief would enforce it.

So, I have a plan. Now we wait.