Meeting the ’Grand Duc’

I read with plea­sure Mr Kirby’s ac­count about his un­in­vited neigh­bour Mr Bubo and its war cry, howl or bark, as you like. That bark, when heard in the mid­dle of the night is im­pres­sive, in ac­cor­dance with the bird’s mea­sure­ments. I imag­ine a house near the hills, and that omi­nous howl fill­ing the night. Let me just say that the Cata­lan name for the spec­i­men is gran duc. Many years ago, liv­ing in a rural land­scape, only from time to time did we hear Bubo’s bark. In fact, the bird was not com­mon in the co­marca, where on the con­trary, small broth­ers of the gen­der could be seen daily. As chil­dren we used to catch young owls and hold them in a base­ment, feed­ing them with let­tuce and snails until we got bored of it and set them free. There were also perch­ing owls in churches.

My last en­counter with Bubo took place in France in 2017: we were two mar­ried cou­ples dri­ving in the Pyrennées Ori­en­tales re­gion; our des­ti­na­tion was the “Hostel­lerie Le Grand Duc” an im­pres­sive build­ing in a small vil­lage. The two women in the car started mus­ing about His Grace the Great Duke, lord of the es­tate, who surely would be wait­ing at the door to greet them in a knightly fash­ion, kiss­ing their hands (Down­ton Abbey, you know). I told them that grand duc was also the name of a bird of prey, a big one. No­body paid at­ten­tion to my warn­ing.

The Hostel­lerie, oh dear, did not house his Grace; rather, the man­sion was full of clay, plas­ter and wood fig­ures of Bubo; what guests en­coun­tered, pre­sid­ing over the large din­ing room, was the biggest of birds, a real Bubo, nearly a yard tall, wings spread, fierce with beak and feath­ers, but stuffed.

But it was silent, of course. No barks.