Owls and Hawks
Frost had come. Real frost, with black, nipping fingers. White frost, at its first appearance, is a decorator who casts a silver spell upon the meadows, turning them into shimmering lakes and touching the ripe leaves until each one becomes a banner of scarlet, gold, or russet.
Chrysanthemums and tufts of self-sown pansies, huddling in warm nooks, were the only flowers left about the farm-houses or in Gray Lady’s garden, and both of these would hold their own until Thanksgiving Day gave praise for the year’s growth and bade growing things sleep the long sleep of winter.
Birdland showed the change less than either the hickory or the river woods, for the old orchard held its leaves as apple trees usually do, and the belt of spruces and pines, that ran from the north side of it quite up to the house, made a cheerful green barrier and wind-break as well; but the Swallows and Night Hawks were no longer skimming the air, and high above, a pair of Red-shouldered Hawks were sailing majestically, occasionally giving their cry Kee-o—Kee-o!
RED-SHOULDERED HAWK
Jacob had finished the Martin house the week previous, and a stout smooth pole like a flagstaff had been planted, not in Birdland itself but on a slight rise in the ground that overlooked both the barns and the orchard. The setting up of the house itself had been reserved for this special Saturday, so that the children might take part in the ceremony.
The top of the pole, on which there were fastened crosspieces to make a foundation for the house, was thirty feet above the ground. In this pole stout spikes were driven at intervals. This not only would prevent cats from climbing up to the house, but made a sort of ladder by which a man or boy could go up and pull out the nesting material of English sparrows if they tried to take possession. For, if we are to keep the useful insect-eating birds about our houses, we must try our best to keep this Sparrow from living amongst us.
Hard as it seems, he must be classed with animals that the kindest heart knows must be destroyed. But no one wishes to hurt nestlings, so the best way to do is to prevent the old birds from building in the haunts of the useful song-birds, and then in winter, when the old Sparrows gather in flocks about the barnyard, have some grown man, with good judgment and aim, shoot them. Children should never be let do this for amusement, for it is not well to allow a painful necessity to become a sport.
Tommy Todd was quite late on this Saturday morning, so that it was thought that he was not coming, and when he did arrive he found the others gathered about the pole,—Dave, who had a steady head for climbing, having been allowed to go up with Jacob, after the house had been raised with a block and falls, to hold hammer and nails while it was securely fastened to the braces.
They were all so busy that it was not until Jacob and Dave had come down, that Gray Lady noticed the box that Tommy had brought and which stood beside him, the slats on top telling that it contained some live thing.
As she turned to ask Tommy what he had brought, Goldilocks came down the path in her chair, for though she could walk quite well by this time, she was obliged to be very careful, and Ann would not allow her to be on her feet for more than an hour or two each day.
“The little Owls are back again and all sitting in a row on a branch of the old russet beyond the lunch-counter. There is a hollow in the trunk of the tree that I never noticed before, and do you know, mother, I shouldn’t be surprised if the nest had been in there, so, perhaps, if we have something that they like on the lunch-counter, they’ll come back next year.”
“Come back? Aren’t you going to shoot them before they get away?” asked Dave. “Because they might not come back.”
“We don’t want them to come back to be shot, but to make more nests and live here,” said Goldilocks.
“Live! why, folks always shoot Owls and Hawks! They are very bad things, though I guess Hawks are the worst; anyhow, there’s more of ’em. Just look at those big Hen-hawks flying up yonder now; maybe you’d like them to come and live in the orchard. If they did, they’d eat the lunch off’n your counter, other birds and all.”
Gray Lady, seeing by the expression of Dave’s face that he could not quite understand any other view of the matter, said: “Yes, Dave, you are right; people usually shoot Hawks and Owls on sight—and have been doing so for years. In fact, my own husband used to shoot them as a matter of course, and he was one who never killed a song-bird and who greatly preferred to hear the Grouse drumming in the forest, the Woodcock singing and dancing in the spring woods (yes, they both dance and sing and I will tell you of them some day), and Bob-white telling his name from the fence-rail, than to have them come on the table ever so deliciously cooked.
“But within the last ten or fifteen years the Wise Men have found out a great deal more about these Owls and Hawks—or Birds of Prey, as they are called, and they know exactly what the work of these birds is in the great plan of nature. Many of the facts they tell us of we can see for ourselves if we have the patience to watch. Before the country was settled by white men, and became what we call ‘civilized,’ all of these birds of prey had their place, but even now many of them are not only not hurtful to us, but of distinct benefit. The difficulty is that we do not stop to sift the facts and separate the good from the bad. To the farmer, and particularly the poultry-raiser, the cry of Hawk brings him out, quick as a flash, shot-gun in hand.
“But if he will only realize that for every chicken or pigeon one of these Hawks destroys, it in all probability takes fifty rats, field-mice, short-tailed meadow-mice, weasels, and red squirrels, he will see that he owes the Hawk a debt of gratitude; for it is easier by far to protect a poultry-yard from conspicuous things that fly above—like Hawks and Owls—than to keep out the things that crawl and creep.
“Now, before we go down to the orchard to see Goldilocks’ little Screech Owls, let us see what Tommy Todd has in this box.”
“It’s only a Screech Owl that I found up in the pigeon-coop this morning, but it’s such a different colour from the gray ones we have here, that I brought it up for you to see if it was a rare kind. I daren’t take it out because it claws and bites so.” And Tommy took away the cloth that partly covered the box, and there sat the bird with open, yellow-rimmed eyes, with which he seemed to see with difficulty.
The Owl was no taller than a Robin, but his large, round head and thickset body made him appear to be a much larger bird. He had two ear tufts (or horns) of feathers, a strong, curved beak, and powerful toes, lightly feathered, ending in the hooked talons that mark the birds of prey, that is, birds that prey, or feed, upon forms of animal life other than defenceless insects, worms, etc. Its feathers were a bright rusty red colour, streaked with black; its underparts being more or less white, mixed with red and black.
“The Owls in the orchard are like this one, only they are all gray and black,” said Goldilocks, after taking a long look.
“Perhaps this is the father bird; you told us that if one bird is a gayer colour than the other, it is generally the father,” said Sarah Barnes.
“Yes, that is often the case, as I am glad to find that you remember, but not with the Screech Owl, the most common of American Owls, and one that is known under many names—Mottled Owl, Gray Owl, and Red Owl.
SCREECH OWL
“There may be some gray birds and some red ones in the same brood, but this does not depend upon sex, season, or age. The strange difference is called by a long name, ‘dichromatism’ or two-colour phase, and this is one of the things for which the Wise Men can give no positive reason; so it is another question like those about the flight and travels of the birds for one of you to find out in future.
“Bring the box up to the orchard, Tommy, and, after we have seen the gray Screech Owls, you can open the door and put the box in the tree and see what will happen.”
Before they reached the gate of Birdland, they heard a commotion inside; Jays were screaming in a great state of rage and alarm, and, as they drew nearer, another sound blended with the screaming, a hissing sound like “shay—shay—shay,” and the snapping of beaks.
“The Jays have found the Owls out, and they’re hopping mad,” said Jacob, who was standing in the shelter of a tree-trunk, enjoying the scene. “The Jays daren’t really touch the Owls, only jeer, and the Owls only snap their beaks and hiss in return because they don’t like to fly out in bright light; all you get back by the fence and watch out.”
The children did as Jacob suggested and Tommy put his box on top of the wall and, at a signal from Gray Lady, unfastened the slats. At first the little Red Owl stretched his neck and snapped his beak; then, as he heard the voices of the Jays, he backed into the corner of the box and drew himself up thin and long, so that he did not look like the same bird that had been so plump and fluffy a few seconds before.
“That’s just the way he did this morning when I found him in the pigeon-house,” said Tommy; “in the dark he didn’t look a bit like a bird, but more like a corn-cob on end.
“There! look there, Gray Lady.” And Tommy pointed at a tree behind that in which the five Owls were roosting. “There is another Owl all by itself that the Jays haven’t found out, and it’s all drawn up thin just like my red one.” And, following the direction of his finger, the Owl was plainly to be seen, but so rigid and motionless that it might have been a moss-covered branch stump.
“We would better go in now,” said Gray Lady, after they had watched for a few moments. “The Owls are beginning to notice us, and I do not wish them to be driven away until I have had a chance to photograph them. Leave the box there, Tommy; with all this noise your Owl cannot be expected to come out before night.”
“But if they are good birds, what was the red one doing in Tommy’s pigeon-house?” asked Dave.
“Probably looking for mice or other vermin, or perhaps shelter,” said Gray Lady, “for though they sometimes eat large game, mice or smaller animals are easier food for a tribe of Owls that sometimes grow only six inches high and never to a foot in length. I will tell you a way to convince yourselves and make sure of what Owls feed upon without killing the Owls,” said Gray Lady, as, on their way up to the play and work rooms, they went into the library to look at some of the mounted birds in one of the cases.
“As Owls usually swallow their food whole, they take in bones, fur, feathers, etc., that they cannot digest; these portions are made up into little pellets called ‘Owl balls,’ and these are spit up before the real process of digestion is begun, and if you search under the trees where owls roost, you may often find these pellets for yourselves.”
“Maybe that is what these things are that I’ve found, for ever so many days, below the porch of the pigeon-house,” said Tommy, pulling a bunch of paper from his pocket; “I guess the Red Owl meant to live there this winter.” He spread out the paper before Gray Lady, who was now sitting at the table turning over the pages of a large book in red covers. It was a reference book, in two volumes, that she often used to look up stories of the birds about which the children asked. The name of the book was Life Histories of North American Birds, and they were written and collected by Major Bendire, who was both one of the Wise Men and an officer in our army. Putting in a mark at the page where Screech Owl began, she closed the book and looked at the contents of the paper.
“Yes, Tommy,” she said presently, “these are not only Owl balls, but there is the fur and bones of a mouse in each.” And deftly separating the wads with the point of a pair of scissors and taking out a tiny skull, she motioned the children to look at it through a reading-glass, each one in turn.
“Does the Screech Owl live everywhere in the United States?” asked Dave, after he and Tommy had picked out enough of the tiny bones from the fur to piece out the entire skeleton of a mouse.
“This same species of Screech Owl that we have here is found all through the eastern part of North America, but there is a Screech Owl, of some sort, to be found in the other parts of the country; thus, there is a Florida Screech Owl; one for California; another for the Rocky Mountains; one for Mexico, and one for Puget Sound, besides several others, and, of them all, the Rocky Mountain Owl is said to be the handsomest.
“We have several other owls that live hereabouts and do good work by killing rats, mice, snakes, lizards, etc. Of course, they also eat some birds, but they are so valuable to the farmer that he can ill spare them, and if he cannot, neither can we. Do you realize that it is really the farmer that holds the life of the country in his hand? What good would money and houses and clothes do us if we had no food?—and it is the farmer who, by carrying out the workings of nature, makes food possible.
“These birds of prey divide time between them, the Hawk works by day and the Owls at night and in the early dawn; thus, ‘Nature, in her wisdom, puts a continuous check upon the four-footed vermin of the ground.’
“Our little Screech Owls love old orchards and the hollow trees to be found there, and they are well suited to be guardians of the fruit trees. In hard winters, mice and rabbits will often eat the bark of young peach, pear, plum, and apple trees in such a way as to ruin them. Who can keep a constant watch upon them by day and night so well as the Hawks and Owls?—and if they do take an occasional chicken or pigeon, these are more easily replaced than fruit trees.
“Then, too, our little Screech Owl is a destroyer of cutworms, those dreadful worms that do their work by night. For this alone, should the farmer call this Owl his friend, and let him nest in any little hollow under the barn eaves, or in the old willow or sycamore, as he chooses. That is, if the few sticks and feathers that line the hollow can be called a nest.
“The courtship of the Owl begins late in March, for Owls, living, as they do, permanently in their homes, nest early; the Great Horned Owl, of deservedly savage reputation, beginning in February, and the round-faced Barred Owl in March. I have only seen the young Owls on their first coming from the nest—queer, fuzzy little balls, awkward in flight and noisy, who perch on a branch like a row of clothes-pins all day, and then spend their nights being fed, and in awkward attempts at learning to fly. Once, in my girlhood, I kept an Owl with a sprained wing in an outdoor cage for a couple of months, and he grew quite tame and was very clever and clean apparently, from the evidence of spilled water, taking a bath in his pan every night and keeping his feathers in good condition.
“Major Bendire tells of the courtship of these songless birds in a way that proves that where voice is lacking, gesture takes the place of speech, as with Grackles and Crows. ‘The female was perched in a dark, leafy tree, apparently oblivious of the presence of her mate, who made frantic efforts to attract her attention through a series of bowings, wing-raisings, and snapping of the beak. These antics were continued for some time, varied by hops from branch to branch near her, accompanied by that forlorn, almost despairing, wink peculiar to this bird. Once or twice I thought that I detected sounds of inward groanings as he, beside himself at lack of success, sat in utter dejection. At last the lady lowered her haughty head, looked at and approached him.’
“The young Owls when first hatched are blind and featherless, and are so ravenous that not only do their parents feed them at night but also put away enough food in the nest to last through the day as well, so you can easily see how useful a family of these Owls would be the neighbourhood of any farm.