The thing about Osgood was that many mistook him for a statue. It was convenient for his duties, but it made Mother Goose rather sad to think so many simply didn't give him a second thought- or any attention- as they passed by. It didn't occur to her that if people did know he was alive, they would probably be more likely to run from the oversized owl than stop to pet his feathers. Or even venture to approach her door. But Osgood was a gentle creature and wouldn't harm anyone, unless herself or her property were in danger.
Once a month, sometimes more, Mother Goose would make her special pies for Osgood. Mincemeat, with extra suet and kidneys, just the way he liked them. Instead of beef bits, she would throw in whole mice, one in each pie, and always in a different place. It was almost like a surprise, seeing where the mouse was hiding. It was the little touches that spoke loudest of Mrs. Goose's love.
She had placed them on the sill to cool as quickly as possible. Osgood would smell them and know what was coming, and she didn't want him to wait long. Watching the clock, Mother Goose decided it was time to test if they were cool enough. As she approached the window, however, she noticed a hand snaking its way around the shutter.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you. Osgood is ever so protective of his treats. You'd better come inside. And don't try to run; no one can outrun my owl. And I daresay he's probably heard my voice and is on alert. Oh, and probably rather hungry as well."
All this was said in a mild tone, so as not to provoke the bird. If he had any idea- well, she'd gotten there in time, so it was alright. Probably. Provided the owner of the hand was smart enough to listen to her.
In the meantime, she would just pop in a fresh batch of pies- minus the mice. It was always nice to have company, and now she was given the opportunity to set that company on the straight and narrow path. Mr. Goose always said she could turn the heart and mind of anyone, if she wished it.