Burrowing Owls

My family has never fit in Orange County. We don't go to the beach, we are not blond (except for Helmut, our secret half-brother-- a towhead), we are not bros, we are not babes (Leighton, you beg to differ?) Point is, we grew up in a hostile environment. We were taunted for our love of classical music, falconry, art, math. Greg D. wrote "Meghan P. Davis" on my math book in sixth grade out of spite. I asked him what the "P" stood for and he said "Pi"-- the mathematical constant. Good one, Greg D. (actually surprisingly witty-- Evan M. simply kicked a soccer ball in my face, though I was on his team.)
I'm getting to a point here: burrowing owls do not think they are better than the prairie dogs they co-habitate with; they are simply different. Owls, built for flight, typically live in trees. Though our culture associates owls with wisdom, in Italian, "civetta"--owl--can be slang for whore and in Arabic "owl" is slang for widow. I might have just made all of that up. Anyway, owls are not necessarily wise, but they like to sit in branches, and they are nocturnal. The burrowing type lives in the ground, and the prairie dogs, who are totally lovable but sometimes carry the bubonic plague, say things like, "Nice feathers, asshole." When the lion lays (lies?) down with the lamb, then the prarie dog and the burrowing owl might also cease their bickering. This is a long-term prophetic conjecture. Short-term, I do not want to go to your pool party, Britney. Thanks but no thanks.