It's 4:45 am on a Sunday and the bars are closed and everyone is flying home. In a low murmur he hums "Hoot, hoot-hoot, hoot" in a four-syllable cadence then repeats the rhythmic call. The faint light of dawn is an hour away and who wants a warm bed on a cool morning "Hoot, hoot-hoot, hoot?" After several minutes, from the next field over is a response, "Here I am" in a sweet higher pitch and as I hear this flirting from under my toasty covers I wonder if we'll have owlets this summer? We love our owls. They are so cool. During my day-time job I'm at a convention for art teachers and I'm calling out to each passerby the equivalent of "buy my product" asking with a friendly open-ended question and an owl saunters by and I receive a text message from The Matrix: "Follow the owl over the moon."