As the heelers dashed about to check their yard for any scent of trespassers (there's been a young border collie by lately), I heard the familiar call.

Hooo-hoo-ho-ho-hooo.

And there, on the powerpole above my raspberry patch, was the male great horned owl, calling for his mate.

He ignored my answering calls, watching instead to the south, where the deeper voice of a female owl answered his. Before I could sneak any closer, he took off, swooping silently towards a pole across the street.

And landed, for mere seconds, upon the back of his chosen.

And before I could click off a second shot of their mating, he was gone into the dark.

Leaving his lady friend behind in presumably satisfied bliss, politely ignoring my "hoos".