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He had been casually crossing the lot behind
the house, when a frightful shadow passed over the ground in
front of him. The bright moon had given a brief flash of a dark
wing on the ground and the sound of flapping, like a shirt on
the line in a strong wind. Only this was no shirt. The peace
of the night was suddenly snatched from him and he darted into
a haystack that had been near the fence since last fall. It was
a useless pile of hay and weeds, but it seemed like a gift to
him, as he heard the wings rise again.
Bravado knew how unwise it was for a mouse to venture out alone
like this, but it was a pleasant night with that large moon,
nearly full, and he just felt like a stroll. Angie had a nest
up in the elm with the sounds of small owls peeping in it. They
grew up so quickly, that their squeaks already seemed foreboding.
The haystack was a pile of refuse, not quite a compost heap,
but not far from it either. It was damp and moldy down at the
bottom, and squeezed up through some of the stems to higher ground
where it was dry. He could hear Angie flying around, doing reconnaissance
missions over the heap, and wondered how long he’d have
to hide out before she gave up. Couldn’t she find some insects
to eat? A mouse was far too large a meal for this late at night.
He poked his head out to take a peak, and there she was flying
to the next tree to land on a branch and watch. It would be the
waiting game. Maybe he should just find a place safe enough to
curl up for the night. Then it occurred to him that the others
might come out looking for him, and they might be grabbed up
instead. No, that wasn’t a good solution. After the quick
run to refuge, his heart was still pounding, and he wasn’t
the least bit tired.
He could see Angie’s head, with the moon glinting on her
feathers. Now that she knew she had him where she could see him
venture out again, there was no hurry. A mouse had the same flaw
as his mortal enemy: too curious and too sure of himself. He
would poke his head out again. She pulled her neck down, like
she was tired.
Bravado slinked through the hay and came across an old torn shirt.
It was comfy, and he grabbed it and pulled it over on itself,
forming a huge hammock under some of the brush. He lay down on
it and folded his hands in his lap, staring up through the grass
stems at the night sky. So many stars! If owls were supposed
to be so darn wise, how come this one was so bent on a nighttime
snack that she didn’t take the time to see the beautiful
sky? He couldn’t hear any peeping, so it must be her own
hunger she was trying to feed.
He lay there and considered options. Maybe she’d wear out
and go to sleep. He could watch the tree and if she flew back
to the nest, he could make a run for it. Maybe it he shouted
loud enough, one of the others would hear him. Grandpa was usually
near the coal chute by the basement late at night, blending into
the spills bits of coal, as he smoked a late night pipe full.
Naw, he’d never HEAR him, no matter how loud he squeaked.
Even if he did, he might want to come have a look, and he’d
never make it back through the coal window with his twig cane,
before Angie spotted him. She’d probably be more than satisfied
with a wiry old gray mouse.
That was scary, when he realized that she’d be much more
please with a soft young mouse. He was tense, and he pulled the
shirt, trying to get it to lay with a swoop, so he could curl
his shoulders in it. It was caught on something. He felt around
the top, where it was hanging down like a tent.
Ouch! It bit him. What is this? There’s a needle stuck here,
right where the sleeve is torn. Someone was mending it, and through
it out with the needle still in it. That oversight was dangerous.
He put his paw to his mouth and licked it. Salty. He’d cut
the skin. Hey! Hey! Hey! Now this could come in handy. He carefully
pulled it out. It still had thread through the eye. He pulled
it out and rolled it around his waist 3 times, making a belt.
He pulled the needle out carefully. It was small and easy to
handle. Too small to get his fingers through the eye, so he had
to grip around it. He jabbed at the hay with it and it went through
easily.
A sword. That’s what he had. He could run across the lot
with this and when Angie saw it, she wouldn’t dare try to
grab him. He’d give her his most defiant Bravado mouse shout.
Might work. But seemed foolish.
He peered out. There she was, with her head pulled down on her
shoulders like a tired old vulture. He tried to crawl around
through the straw to the side of the haystack nearest the house.
It was hard to form a passageway, while holding the needle, so
he used it ahead of him, poking it through. He could see Grenetta
and Whistler peeking out between the slats of the porch skirt.
He waved the needle at them, trying to make it glitter in the
moonlight. They disappeared under the porch. Had they seen him?
Were they telling the others?
Angie stretched and jumped off the branch. He must still be down
there. He hadn’t come out into the light. She dove down
over the haystack, beating her wings loudly. Sometimes that led
the little creatures to think that they’d been spotted,
and they’d give themselves away. Not this one. No movement
at all. She swung up to another tree, near the house.
Bravado watched. She was blocking his way now. She tucked her
head against her shoulders again, her beak silhouetted as she
turned it in a circle. She raised the tops of her wings, shrugging
and then relaxed to watch. Back to the waiting game.
Bravado poked the needle out into the light and waved it again.
Her head swung around. She’d seen it, as he knew she would.
She cruised down to have a better look.
He could hear her high pitched voice as she flew over. "Well,
whoooo doooo we have here? Hoootahhh warrior? Ohhhh!"
He shouted back that she’d better watch herself, or she’d
be shishkabob. All she heard was, "Squeak, wahhh urrreee
squeakahhh beee bawwwbeee."
She circled around, puzzled that he’d had the guts to shout
at her in his feeble mouse breath. She hooted again dive bombed.
She heard his meager mousey voice again.
"Geeek awayyyy, orrrbeeee squeakahhh beee bawwwbeee!"
There was another flash from the pile of hay, jabbing at the
moon.
She fluttered and grabbed another branch. Strange little mouse!
What was all that glitter and chatter? She watched, but the nest
of hay lay quietly, as the crickets tuned their legs. Maybe a
cricket would be enough till morning.
She did another dive off the branch and dove down over the wood
pile. She glided down, but when she turned back up she had to
beat her wings. They stopped strumming as she flew over. She
had drowned out the string ensemble with her wings.
Bravado saw Whistler dash out from under the porch, not even
looking around first. He took a deep breath, and scuttled down
to the bottom of the heap, holding his silver lance in front
of him.
Angie heard a wee voice over by the house and turned her head
all the way around on her neck. Dinner! She bounced on the branch
once, and catapulted herself across the lot. There was a small
mouse steak, running into the dusty driveway. She pinned her
wings against her body, and shot down towards him.
Bravado darted out of the haystack, heading straight for his
cousin. "Back under the porch. Owl! Owl!" He held the
needle in both hands, and headed straight for him.
Whistler stopped, staring as his older cousin ran towards him
like he was going to do battle. Then he heard the wings. He froze
then made a mad run for the porch.
Bravado was heading after him, out of breath, and trying to get
out of the light. He had the needle tucked under his arm and
held the dull end. The tip was sticking up over his shoulder.
Angie swooped for the little mouse, but he made it to the darkness
under the porch. She banked and turned, coming back for the larger
one. Bravado was running faster than he ever had in school.
She opened her feet, and was ready to grab him. She put her wings
out and he saw the shadow. He stumbled, landing flat on his face
in the dust. He could see the moon getting wider in Whistler’s
eyes, as he held onto one of the slats under the porch.
Angie had him. It was a good night for mouse. She closed her
talons, and got a sharp pain in her hip. Ouch! What was that?
She beat her wings a couple times and as she raised up, she saw
him get up and take off again. She had gained enough height for
another dive. As she came down her stood with his back to a board,
and held the needle out in front of him, shouting, "squeakahhh
beee bawwwbeee!"
She hesitated. Her right hip hurt and she was flying a bit lopsided.
Even in the darkness her eyes quickly focused on the long shiny
shape. That was what he’d stuck her with, and now he was
actually taking a stand. She circled, as she shouted at him,
and went back to her tree.
Whistler couldn’t believe it. "Bravado, you just attacked
on owl!"
He was out of breath from running and fear. "I ahhhh…
don’t everrrr… run out… in the open… like
that!"
"You saved me. We’ve got to tell the others."
They stayed up late that night. Grandpa got to take a break as
Bravado told the entire story 3 times, while Whistler played
with the needle, pretending to shishkabob the owl as it made
its attack.
They put the needle on the top of the mantel in the kitchen wall,
right under the picture of great great grandfather Friedrich
who had come over on the boat.
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