Photo by Karine Aiger kaigner / The bucket birds, as I call them, were born in March 2020—at the beginning of the pandemic—in an old, five-gallon paint bucket. I’d sequestered myself at a friend’s ranch, biding my time and spending days observing the wildlife. The bucket once had been the solution to reunite a baby great horned owl found on the ground with its parents. An expert advised: “put the owlet in a bucket, put it up somewhere off the ground, and see if the parents come back.” Years later, the bucket was still being used as a nest. I’d never been at the ranch during nesting season, and last spring the owl pair hatched three eggs. The scraggly messes became my daily ritual. As I approached, like a perfect game of whack-a-mole, they would disappear, and eventually, one by one, pop back up. Their antics were hilarious, and the speed at which they grew blew my mind. Follow me kaigner for the story and more tales about the intersections between humans and animals. #bucketbirds #gre...