The thick sent of sweat filled the Oval Office.

Mike stared pensively at the stubby fingers sliding against the cigar cutter and was reminded of a strange experience he'd had just a few months ago. One foggy evening

he heard an owl. He looked out of his office window and saw a Great Horned Owl in the Oak tree his grandpa planted before Mike was born. It was huge, the owl. He

re-read the letter that arrived the day before last. There was no signature or name, no clues as to who sent it, but the message was dead serious. The huge owl outside hooted

Taking a quill, I scrawled a reply "Never!", sealed it in wax and handed it to the waiting owl. The owl blinked and shredded my missive. It occurred to me I never use owls.

Note to self "Owls make terrible carrier pigeons". The owl blinked, cleaned the fetters of my message of repulse from its claws and then it spoke. "

We've been serving witches and wizards for eons with no pay but room and board. Long flights and poor weather conditions. And you don't appreciate us owls. It was true. I hung my h

alberd in the closet, rinsed off in the shower, and dried my feathers under the heat lamp.When I came out, the rest of my party asked what an owl like me would like as compensation

For King Olaf's birthday party. He had just become an owl and had to get around without glasses. Mr. Owl wisely suggested meditation on the barn balcony. Fifty years collaborating

on everything between the brightup and the brightdown with these hooters could teach you a lot about yourself. But you don't have time for that now, here comes King Olaf's cake.