Every time I come home from volunteering at Sarvey, I am full of so much enthusiasm, I think I bombard my husband Tom with it. I talk so quickly that at times he must tell me to slow down just so he can understand me. I relay everything that happened, all the new animals that came in, all the ones I personally took care of, and the ones that were released since my last visit.

Seeing me expound with joy every other weekend, I think he was a bit jealous. So finally he asked me to talk to Jennifer and set up a tryout day for him. I explained quite frankly to him what was required, but he assured me he could handle it and make a contribution.

As we toured the outside facility, Tom expressed his disbelief in the now-obvious amount of daily work that was needed to efficiently run and maintain this operation—and again vowed to pitch in. As we entered the medical building, the strong odor of animal feces assaulted his nostrils, and I could see his commitment begin to weaken. I then showed him the proper procedure for removing an opossum from its carrier, cleaning the carrier thoroughly, and filling the water and food dish. As he watched me, I could tell his commitment was again waivering. Then Jennifer handed him a bucket and pointed him toward a bank of cages. Looking at all those dirty cages, he decided that he wasn't quite cut out for this type of work. But he would stay until his shift was over and perform other important tasks, such as dishes, laundry, and food preparation.

That day we were pretty shorthanded, and he was called on to perform many tasks he was not familiar with nor comfortable doing; but being a trooper, he completed each one with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. A Great Horned Owl was brought in tangled in netting. Not knowing Tom has an extreme fear of blood and needles, Jennifer asked him to hold the owl so she could examine it. Not wanting to endanger the animal any further, he held the owl with shaky hands while Jennifer cleaned, bandaged, and administered a shot of antibiotics. When the owl was snugly in his new home, my wobbly husband sat down, very proud of himself.

After such a monumental accomplishment a bond was formed with this owl. Each Sunday upon my return from Sarvey, Tom would inquire about the owl, who became known affectionately as Hooter. Wanting to continue his connection with this owl, Tom asked Kaye if we could purchase a radio transmitter to track his movements after release to learn more about owl habits.

After months of recovery and gaining strength, the day had arrived. On April 2, 1996, at 4 pm, the transmitter was placed on Hooter's tail feather and he into a carrier. Tom and I followed Pat, another volunteer, to Spencer Island, a wildlife sanctuary near Marysville. It seemed like an ideal location to release him. It was a beautiful park with fresh water running through it, large trees, and lots of other wildlife. A nature trail made of freshly laid bark circled the sloughs and marshland. We walked to the south end of the island, set the carrier down, and opened the door. Hooter seemed a bit reluctant to leave the safety of the carrier. He just kept looking at us with those round yellow eyes. When we tipped the carrier to coax him out, he hopped few times, looked around at his new surroundings and flew to a stand of tall trees. Suddenly, a flock of crows swarmed around Hooter harassing him with obnoxious sounds. A Redtail Hawk circled overhead watching the crows and the fading sunlight. Once the crows left, Hooter flew to a tree out of our sight. We followed the radio signal until it was too dark to see, but we couldn't spot him. We hoped he felt safe in his new home and wished him a good night.

April 3, 1996—6 pm

We returned the following evening only to discover neither of us had the receiver and antenna. Ooops!

April 4, 1996—5:45 am

We arrived at Spencer Island before work the next day. A beautiful orange sun rose over the Cascade Mountains. The park was alive with sounds and movement. The equipment indicated Hooter was at the north end of the park. We walked along the island trail listening to the beeps grow louder. When the trail started to turn south, we headed back to the car. We could not spot him, but he was probably watching us and having a good laugh.

We returned to the park later that evening at 5:50 pm. We turned on the equipment to hear distinct beeps from the north. This time we walked along the paved bike trail outside the park listening intently to the beeps growing louder and louder. We walked about a mile when the pavement ended. Still no visual sighting, but the beeps were very strong and clear.

April 5, 1996—5:30 am

We again began the search before work, this time starting north of the park entrance at 12th Street NE. We asked permission from a local horseriding outfit to walk around their property. We followed a horse trail north along Union Slough. We walked for about 45 minutes and could hear the beeps clearly. We returned to the car and continued north along Highway 529 to Beringer Strawberry Farm. The signal was still farther north. We again followed Highway 529 to Marysville, turning left onto Third Avenue to Sunnyside Boulevard. We stopped as the road started to turn south. The signal was still farther north. Sometimes we would drive and then stop to take a reading. Many times we would just drive slowly with the antenna dangling out the window. We received many strange looks from other motorists and pedestrians. We would only laugh.

April 6, 1996—4 pm

We drove from Highway 529 in Marysville east along Highway 528 to Highway 9. The signal became extremely loud at 60th Street near Lake Cassidy. We walked under the powerlines around a stretch of bramble bushes. The signal was the loudest ever. We had found him! He was in those bushes. We talked to many of the neighbors, explaining what we were doing and why. One family had seen him in a tree near the bushes earlier that day.

April 7, 1996—5 pm

We returned the following evening and talked to the same neighbors, but no other sightings had occurred. We circled the bramble bushes. He was definitely still there. We hadn't sighted him since the day of the release, but we were always hot on his trail. We wanted a visual. We took a more direct approach; straight into the bushes we went. We felt like field researchers trampling through marshes, over blackberry bushes, and under low tree branches. Half way into the brush the loud strong signal stopped. Obviously he had heard us approaching. Tom walked over to talk to the neighbors again while I searched the trees with my binoculars. When an obnoxious crow started up, I knew Hooter was close by. Through my binoculars I could see him high in a tree with a dozen crows circling him, trying to encourage him to find another hangout. The neighbor Tom was talking with phoned a couple down the street to ask their permission to continue our trek through their property. This couple had referred many injured animals to Sarvey and were pleased to help us in our pursuit of Hooter. From their property we were able to observe Hooter until the sun had set. We were very happy to finally see him again and make sure he was all right.

April 9, 1996—5:30 pm

We returned to Highway 9 near Lake Cassidy but could not pick up Hooter's signal. We drove north to Arlington hoping to receive his signal; we heard only static. In our desperation to continue our contact with Hooter, we kept the antenna out the window all the way home to Monroe following the back roads. But still nothing. We had tracked him nearly every day for a week, sometimes twice a day, and now only static from the receiver. We felt sad that our trek had ended. But grateful for the experience and happy that one more Great Horned Owl is alive and free because of Sarvey and all the caring people who support it.

After our experience with Hooter, Tom felt that he needed to somehow show his support. Since he wasn't up to cleaning cages, he decided to put his greatest talent to work. He solicited every grocery store in Monroe for donations of fresh fruit, fish, or meat. Thanks to Stacie and Drew at the Monroe Albertsons. Every other Sunday I fill up my trunk with slightly bruised fruit and fish trimmings.