It was younger daughter who spotted the owl, clinging to the edge of a gable roof of one of the older, more gingerbready houses on Vancouver Street.
It took the Resident Fan Boy a bit of searching to realise that she wasn't referring to a carved owl, but a very real one, grasping a baby squirrel, which, I hope, was dead. (I wasn't there.)
The owl was being loudly harassed by a quartet of crows, intent on seizing its prized bit of protein, one or two getting close enough to get in a vicious peck.
"Oh, is that still going on?" inquired a passing couple. "This has been going on since four this morning!"
As younger daughter and the RFB gazed, the owl finally had enough and vanished in a flurry of feathers.
It was way past its bedtime.
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