Sunday Morning Wildlife Drama: Goslings, Turtles, and One Very Harassed Barred Owl - May 25, 2026

Sunday morning had two official objectives.

One: photograph babies, because it is baby season and, frankly, tiny wildlife is one of the greatest gifts nature gives us.

Two: find and photograph a Barred Owl that had been spotted in the park.

But underneath those two goals was the real reason I got up early, packed up my camera gear, and brought Finn along in his little backpack: I wanted quiet time. I wanted to wander through the park before the crowds arrived. I wanted that peaceful early-morning window when the world still feels soft, the trails are quiet, and wildlife has not yet had to put up with the full parade of humans, dogs, strollers, scooters, and people loudly discussing brunch plans.

An early Sunday morning felt perfect.

Just me, Finn, and my camera, and whatever nature decided to reveal. And nature, as usual, had plans.

The first wildlife I spotted was a pair of Canada Geese resting near one of the ponds.

At first, it looked like a peaceful little goose nap scene. Mom was tucked down comfortably, her partner nearby doing his very serious security guard routine. You know the look. Head up. Eyes sharp. Chest puffed. Fully committed to his role as pond bouncer.

Then, to my complete shock and delight, something tiny popped up from Mom’s feathers.

A baby. Then another. Then another. Then another. Then another.

Five little goslings were tucked into their mom’s back feathers like they were staying at the world’s fluffiest bed and breakfast.

I had never photographed goslings cuddled up on their mom’s back before. I have seen baby geese waddling around, nibbling grass, following their parents like tiny yellow parade marshals. But this? This was next-level adorable.

I sat down on a nearby bench and just watched. For a few minutes, the entire rest of the world disappeared. It was just me, Finn, and this quiet little family scene unfolding in front of us.

The babies shifted around, repositioning themselves like sleepy toddlers trying to get comfortable. A few yawned. One would disappear into the feathers, then another tiny head would pop up. It was basically a feather duvet with surprise goslings.

And Mom? She was so relaxed that she eventually closed her eyes.

That felt like such a gift.

Wildlife is always in charge of the interaction. If they are uncomfortable, I move away. If they settle, I stay quiet and respectful. This momma goose seemed to understand that I was not a threat. I was just a weird lady with a giant lens, a cat in a backpack, and an overwhelming amount of emotional investment in her babies.

Her partner, however, remained fully on duty. He did not close his eyes. He did not relax. He was the sentinel. The goose bodyguard.

The feathered security detail. And honestly, he was doing an excellent job.

A little farther along, I spotted another goose couple with one baby.

This little gosling was awake and apparently ready for breakfast. It stood in the grass, staring at the ground with the intense focus of someone trying to choose a life path.

I imagined it thinking, Hmm. This blade? No. Too bendy. That one? Too dramatic. Perhaps this one has the correct breakfast energy.

Tiny goslings somehow manage to make eating grass look like a major philosophical decision.

After a bit of breakfast contemplation, the baby decided it was time to return to the safety of Mom. It tried to tuck itself under her wing, but didn’t quite make it all the way in.

Its little toosh was still sticking out. Poor pickle.

There is nothing funnier than a baby animal thinking it is fully hidden while half its body remains visible. It had the confidence of a master of disguise and the execution of someone hiding behind a curtain with both feet showing.

I took my photos, laughed quietly to myself, and then left the little family to enjoy the rest of their sleep-in before the park got busy.

Then the morning took a hard turn. I noticed movement in another pond and looked closer. At first, my brain couldn’t quite process what I was seeing. There was a dead Mallard in the water.

And painted turtles were eating it.

Now, I knew turtles were not delicate little salad-only pond ornaments. But did I know painted turtles would eat a bird carcass?

No. No, I did not. My brain had a moment.

Nature had gone from “adorable goslings tucked in Mom’s feathers” to “pond reptiles running a cleanup operation” in about ten minutes.

That is wildlife photography for you. One minute you are cooing over baby birds. The next minute you are staring into a pond whispering, “Wait… are those turtles eating a duck?”

Apparently, yes.

Painted turtles are opportunistic omnivores, and nature wastes very little. Still, seeing it in person was a bit shocking. Fascinating, yes. Important, yes. Slightly horror-movie pond edition? Also yes.

I learn something new every single time I go out. Sometimes it’s beautiful. Sometimes it has tiny turtle jaws. Then, just as I was continuing my walk, a kind senior gentleman hurried over to me.

“Do you want to photograph a Barred Owl?” he asked. My eyes went wide. My mouth probably dropped open. I’m pretty sure I said something incredibly smooth and professional like, “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, please. Yes.” He smiled and told me to follow him.

He led me to the exact spot where the Barred Owl was perched, hunkered down on a branch, blending beautifully into the trees. I thanked him, and he went on his way with the biggest smile, clearly happy that he had helped someone find something special.

That moment honestly made my heart swell. There is something so lovely about strangers who share wildlife sightings. He could have kept walking. He could have kept the owl to himself. But instead, he saw someone with a camera and decided to make their morning. And he absolutely did.

The Barred Owl was perched quietly, trying to sleep. At least, that was clearly the plan. Unfortunately for the owl, the rest of the park had other ideas.

He did not care that I was there. Not even a little.

His face basically said, Human, I am trying to sleep. Please take your little photos and keep the nonsense to a minimum.

But I was not the problem.

First, a squirrel came along and tried to knock him off the branch. Yes. A squirrel. This tiny park acrobat apparently woke up that morning and chose chaos. It scrambled around like it had a personal grievance with the owl and decided eviction was the only solution.

The owl remained mostly unbothered.

Then a hummingbird showed up and started buzzing around his face. Because apparently the owl had accidentally booked himself into a tree with full-service harassment. Still, he held his ground.

I saw him opening his mouth and thought he was about to give them a talking to but that's not what happened.

He dropped a pellet! Probably last nights dinner.

Then, just when he probably thought the squirrel and hummingbird drama had ended, a crow arrived. And bit him in the butt. I repeat: a crow bit the Barred Owl in the butt. And I missed the photo!

At that point, even the owl had limits. He lifted off and flew to another tree, probably thinking, Fine. I will relocate. But I want it noted that everyone here is deeply annoying.

He landed lower down in a cedar tree, still not particularly bothered by the people nearby. This owl was clearly used to urban life. Dogs? People? Cameras? Squirrels with attitude? Hummingbirds with no respect for personal space? Butt-biting crows?

Just another day in the city.

When the owl landed in the cedar, I was able to take some beautiful portraits.

He perched calmly, watching the ground below, clearly focused on breakfast. The dark green of the cedar framed him beautifully, and for a few minutes, after all the chaos, he looked peaceful again.

There is something incredible about being that close to a wild owl in an urban park.

Not too close. Not intrusive. Just close enough to observe the details, the deep dark eyes, the barred feathers, the quiet strength, the stillness that owls carry even when the rest of the world is being completely ridiculous around them.

Once I had my photos, I thanked the owl because yes, I do thank wildlife and left him to collect his breakfast in peace.

He had earned it.

After being harassed by a squirrel, a hummingbird, and a crow, that owl deserved a quiet meal and possibly a strongly worded letter to park management.

One Hour, One Urban Park, Endless Wonder

The most amazing part of the whole morning was that all of this happened within one hour, in an urban park.

I saw goslings cuddled in their mother’s feathers. I watched a tiny baby goose contemplate breakfast and fail spectacularly at hiding under Mom’s wing. I learned that painted turtles will eat a dead bird. I met a kind stranger who led me to a Barred Owl. I watched that owl get harassed by three different species before finally settling into a cedar tree for a portrait session.

This is why I love urban wildlife photography.

You do not always have to travel far to find wildness. Sometimes it is right there in your local park, waiting for you on a quiet Sunday morning.

Finn and I went out looking for babies, an owl, and a little peace. We found all three.

Not bad for one hour in the city.