Desmond Morris - Owl

The owl is a contradiction. It is the best known of birds and the least known of birds. Ask anyone, even a small child, to draw an owl and they will do so without hesitation. Ask them when they last saw an owl and they will pause, think hard and then say they cant remember. As a picture in a book yes; as a bird in a TV documentary probably; as a cage inmate in a zoo possibly. But when did they last see a live owl in the wild, in its natural state? That is a different matter.

How has this contradiction arisen? It is easy enough to understand why we so rarely encounter a live owl, for it is a shy night predator with silent flight. Unless we went out of our way to spot one and made organized nocturnal forays with special equipment, we would have little chance of coming face to face with one. It is harder to understand why we are so familiar with its appearance, if we see so little of it. The answer lies in its unique head shape. Like human beings the owl has a wide, rounded head, with a flat face and a pair of large, wide-set, staring eyes. This gives it an unusually human quality that no other bird can match and in ancient times it was sometimes referred to as the human-headed bird. We call ourselves Homo sapiens, meaning wise man and because the owl has a human-looking head we refer to it as a wise old bird. In reality an owl is not as wise as a crow or a parrot, but we think of it as wise simply because of its superficial resemblance to us.

It is this humanoid stare that makes us feel we know the owl. And it is the broad head and the big, forward-facing eyes that make it impossible for us to look at an owl and not feel that we are in the presence of a deep-thinking avian relative. This makes us, at the same time, rather sentimental about owls and rather scared of them. If they are so wise and yet they only come out at dead of night, perhaps they are up to no good? Like burglars they stalk their prey when their victims are at their most vulnerable. Like vampires they only draw blood when the sun has gone down. Perhaps, instead of wisdom, there might be something evil about the owl?

When we examine the history of our relationship with owls we find that it has, indeed, frequently been a symbol of both wisdom and evil. Wise or wicked, wicked or wise, the image of the owl keeps altering. For several thousand years these two iconic values have kept swapping and changing. Another of the contradictory qualities of the much misunderstood owl.

In this book I want to examine both these roles, and others too. For the evil owl can suddenly change into a protective owl if its imagined violence can be harnessed and turned against our enemies. In India it has also been seen as a vehicle for a goddess, swooping down from the sky, and in Europe, by some, as a symbol of obstinacy and by others as an emblem of calm in the face of extreme provocation. In the twenty-first century, when we are at last coming to appreciate the wild fauna of our planet and worry about its dramatic decline, we are also keen to understand the fascinating biology of the owl.

So there are many owls to be examined here: the wise owl, the evil owl, the protective owl, the transporting owl, the obstinate owl, the calm owl and the natural owl. And there have been many different epochs and cultures in which our interest in owls has led to a fascinating collection of myths, legends and artefacts, all dominated by the owls hypnotic stare.

On a personal note, from my days as a zoo curator I have known many captive owls, and during the days when I wastravelling around making television programmes about animal life, I met many more. But if I am honest, I have like you, I suspect met very few owls in the wild, in their natural habitats. There was, however, one memorable encounter that I still recall vividly in every detail, even though it took place over sixty years ago, when I was at boarding school. I had wandered off into the countryside near the school one summers afternoon, and saw something strange in the corner of a field. I approached slowly and silently because I could see that it was some kind of bird, standing immobile on the ground. As I drew closer, it still did not move. Then, when I was about ten feet away from it, I realized with a sudden jolt of recognition that it was a blood-covered, severely injured owl. It must have been shot, caught up in a trap, entangled in some sort of sharp wiring, or hit by a car in the night. Its injuries were horrific and it was clearly dying slowly and in great pain. It was beyond veterinary help. What was I to do?