The bubo scandiacus sits upon a branch, high in his tree. Seeing over hills, over all he can see. The land is a sight for all who are free. But where is the snow that blankets the world? He shall wait in his tree with all patience and ease. With beady eyes and speckled feathers he’ll take his time. Staring at the sky without any reply.

Suddenly, the bubo was threatened by a foreign invader. An arctic hare climbed the tall branches, and warned the bubo. “The snow will not come,” he barked, “until you learn to treat others with respect.”

But the beautiful bubo turned his spherical head away from the snowy furred rodent, making it clear he would not listen to anything else the hare had to say. The graceful bird stared up at the clear blue sky once again and thought wishfully to him. Why should he, of all the forest’s creatures, have to be surrounded inferior looking beasts that would nag and scold him on issues they couldn’t begin to comprehend?

It was not a question of respect, the hare simply didn’t understand. But it was nothing new. For years the great bird had tried to speak his mind, to get his point across. Every year, all the burrowing mice and all the snowy white rabbits of the forest would ask the rest of the woodland creatures what could be done about the humans. And every year, every time the bubo opened his beak in an attempt to help, it was to no avail.