This barn owl was perched agreeably on the leather-clad arm of a staffer at the Sonoran Desert Museum in Tucson. He didn't mind the oohs and aahs of passers-by. It was daytime, the proper hour for sleep. If he was dreaming of cool wind, the scratch and scrabble of mouse feet, and the hot-blooded thrill of the hunt, he maintained his poker face.
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