CEO, Parisian Family Office. Began Wall Street in '82. Founded investment firm, Native American Advisors, '95. White Earth Chippewa. Raised on reservations. Conservative. NYSE/FINRA arbitrator. Drexel Burnham alum. Pureblood, clot-shot free. In a world elevated on a tech-driven dopamine binge, he trades from GHOST RANCH on the Yellowstone River in MT, TN farm, PAMELOT or CASA TULE', the family winter camp in Los Cabos, Mexico. Always been, will always be, an optimist.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Death in the Nest.............

On the way home this morning from taking my youngest son to school and dropping off a basket for our spring carnival I noticed a pile of feathers on the shoulder of the road near my neighborhood. I had been on the road last night about 9:15 pm and hadn't noticed the feathers and curiousity got the best of me so I turned around and went back to see what type of bird was the owner of said feathers.

I knew immediately when you see feathers on a birds legs all the way down to the talons. For years Great-horned owls have been a fixure in our neighborhood. Often waking me up. Often watching their silent flight at early dawn moving back into a 22 acre of woods across the street that they have called home for years. The bird was probably low in flight and was hit by a car last night.

Great-horned owls are the first birds to breed in the calendar year. Something to do with having great feather protection to ward off late winter cold as well as having an ample food supply for their young while the spring vegetation is not thick and provides better hunting opportunity for the birds to feed their young. The dead owl this morning surely had young in the nest. The lonely hooting which subsides during the early days of raising their young may not be heard for a while. I hope the remaining adult bird can feed the young birds and get them into adulthood.

Death comes to predators as well. Even great predators.

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