I got me an owl moot and a stealth bomber and it happened like this…

There are half a dozen owls bunched on a branch and one of them is saying: ‘What’s the point of seeing in the dark if your average field mouse or weasel can hear the swoosh of your wings as you go for a grab?’

A shuffle of claws and a fair bit of owl blinking.

‘No point.’

‘No point at all, mate. They’re off down the nearest hole in the wall and you’re lucky if you just get your claws onto the tip of a not-so-tasty tail. Know what I mean?’

‘We need better wings.’

‘Better wings? I like my wings!’

‘Of course you do. Best in the wood. Alright? But if we fix the air flow, cut down on the whistle and woosh, we will have ‘stealth’.’

There’s a low and meaningful hoot of appreciation at this and a fair bit of owl heads ducking down into owl shoulders.

‘And it’s real stealth I’m talking about. Not like the day mob, your kestrels and hawks and such like; the jammy, jaw-drop, dive bombing show-offs.’

‘And they’re not that good.’

‘And, as you say, they’re not that good at all.’

‘Miss more often than not.’

‘Miss pigeons!’

‘Miss sparrows!’

‘Ha ha! Miss sparrows! Would miss a parrot on a pirate’s shoulder!’

‘Would miss a one-legged pirate, an’ all!’

‘Alright.’

‘Alright.’

There’s more nodding, shifting claws on the branch and blinking, and then one says: ‘What is stealth?’

‘Arial creeping, but like fast creeping, know what I mean?’

‘So dinner can’t hear us.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Deadly?’

‘The stuff of nightmares, mate. We’ll be like the dark blade-runner.’

‘And they’ll copy us won’t they?’

‘Humans? ‘Course they will. Haven’t got an original idea in their heads.’

‘Will they go after our weasels and mice?’

‘Have to wait and see.’