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Most people don't realize how deadly rat poison is for wildlife. Owls, hawks, foxes, and even pets end up eating poisoned rodents—and they d*e slowly, silently, and painfully because of it.

Here's what you can do instead:

Use enclosed snap traps so scavengers can't reach the rodent. Seal holes and entry points around your home. Store food properly so rodents aren't attracted. Choose natural deterrents and humane control methods whenever possible.

Poison doesn't just k*ll rodents, it destroys whole ecosystems. Please avoid using it.

I WASN’T RESTING ON THE FENCE.
THE RAIN HAD MADE MY WINGS TOO HEAVY TO CARRY MY HUNGER.

You saw me in daylight.

A barn owl.

Sitting low on a fence post.

Feathers soaked against my body.

Head bowed.

Eyes half-closed.

Still there when you passed the field once.

Still there when you came back.

Maybe you stopped for a photograph.

Maybe you thought:

“What a beautiful bird.”

“It must be watching for mice.”

“It is waiting for the rain to stop.”

But I was not resting.

I had already spent the night trying to eat.

And the night before that.

The rain had filled every part of the darkness.

It struck the grass.

The hedges.

The roof of the barn.

The leaves above the field.

It covered the small sounds I use to find what keeps me alive.

A mouse moving beneath the stems.

Tiny feet under dry leaves.

A body breathing somewhere in the black.

Usually, I can hear those things.

I can turn my face toward a sound you would never notice.

I can leave the beam without a cry.

Cross the field without warning the animal below.

Drop.

Open my feet.

Carry food back into the night.

But my feathers are built for silence.

Their soft edges break the sound of flight.

They let me approach prey without being heard.

They do not always protect me well from hours of heavy rain.

Water entered the feathers.

The wings grew heavier.

The cold reached my skin.

And silence became harder to carry.

Each flight cost more.

Each failed strike emptied me further.

I rose from the grass with nothing.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Hunger does not stop because the weather is bad.

My heart still needed fuel.

My muscles still needed fuel.

My body still burned warmth through the wet night.

So it began taking energy from itself.

The breast beneath my feathers grew sharper.

The strength in my feet thinned.

The fence post became the only place I could reach without falling into the grass.

That is where you found me.

Not hunting.

Not posing.

Not peacefully waiting for better weather.

Trying to hold my body above the cold ground while hunger hollowed it from inside.

You came closer.

I did not fly.

You may have thought that meant trust.

It did not.

A wild owl that allows you to walk close may simply have no strength left to escape.

The eyes may still follow you.

The head may still turn.

The talons may still close if a hand reaches forward.

But survival can be almost gone while the animal still looks awake.

Please do not crowd me for photographs.

Do not throw food.

Do not try to make me fly to see whether my wings work.

Do not let dogs enter the field.

Keep people back.

Watch from a distance.

A healthy barn owl may use a post briefly and leave to hunt.

But an owl that remains exposed for a long time, appears soaked and weak, sits unusually low, allows close approach, cannot fly properly, falls to the ground or has a sharply wasted body may need urgent help.

Note the exact location.

Take a clear photograph from far enough away not to force movement.

Contact a wildlife rescue, owl rescue group, RSPCA or vet for advice.

If a rescuer asks you to contain the bird, use a secure ventilated box and a towel.

Keep it dark, quiet and away from pets.

Do not force water into its beak.

Do not attempt to feed it unless a specialist instructs you.

I wasn’t resting on the fence.

The rain had made my wings too heavy to carry my hunger.

And while the field filled with water,

a bird made almost entirely from silence

was slowly losing the strength

to lift that silence into the air.

# **I DIDN’T EAT THE POISON.

I ATE THE MOUSE THAT WAS DYING FROM IT.**

You may find me at the edge of a field and think I simply fell from the night.

A barn owl.
White face turned to the ground.
Wings still.
Body light as paper, suddenly too heavy to rise.

And the human story may sound simple.

**old bird.**
**bad winter.**
**weak hunter.**
**nature taking its course.**

But sometimes, nature did not do this alone.

Sometimes the poison was placed for a rat.

Then a mouse found it.
Or a vole.
Or another small mammal moving quietly through the same farmyard, shed, garden, or field edge.

It did not die instantly.

It kept moving.
Slower.
Weaker.
Easier to catch.

And I am a hunter of the weak movement in the dark.

That is how the poison entered me.

Not because I ate the bait.
Not because I broke into a box.
Not because I was the target.

Because the target became my meal.

Inside my body, the same chemistry begins its work. Blood that should clot may fail to clot. Small internal injuries can become fatal. Strength drains from an animal built for silent flight.

This is the cruelty people do not see.

A rodenticide does not always stop at the rodent.

It can pass through the food web like a secret.

From bait.
To mouse.
To owl.
To a field that becomes quieter.

And the tragedy is almost unbearable because I was doing the work people wanted done.

I was hunting rodents without poison.
I was part of the old balance around barns, rough grass, hedges and fields.
I was not the problem.

I was one of the natural answers.

So before using rat poison, ask what else will eat the animal that survives long enough to stagger into the night.

Seal entry points.
Remove food sources.
Use prevention first.
Use non-toxic control wherever possible.
If professional control is needed, ask about wildlife-safe methods and avoid permanent baiting.

Because I didn’t eat the poison.

**I ate the mouse that carried it — and the night lost one ate the mouse that carried it — and the night lost one of the hunters it needed most.**

One cut.

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