Bird-Lore Part 2

May 23, I took my camera with me to the nest. I expected that the young birds would be out by that time, and that the old birds would be flying in and out with food, giving me many opportunities for photography. I looked in the nest and saw that every egg was hatched, so I proceeded to set my camera about two feet away, when who should appear on the ground-gla.s.s but one of the parents, with a mouth full of struggling little green caterpillars. She, if it were the female, looked at the camera a second or two, then, without another thought of the outside world, hopped down into the nest and fed her young.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHIPPING SPARROW APPROACHING ITS NEST]

The camera arranged, I was just about to seek concealment behind a bush, when both of the parent birds flew near the nest with food. I stood very still. One of the birds, the male, I think, stopped too, but the other one flew right into the nest. She soon came out, and stood on the very point I had the camera focused. Very slowly I put my hand up to the shutter-release, expecting the bird to fly any minute; but at last I reached it and, click, I had my first 'close up' bird picture. And it was the best one, too; for although I took six or seven others, they did not turn out so well as the first one.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHIPPING SPARROW BROODING]

May 31, I went to take the pictures of the little Chickadees, but found that they were still too small to handle. I was not able to go again, but my friend reports that the whole family of eight young left the nest, and were very healthy-looking little birds. This nest was situated on the edge of a woods at Verona, N. J.

During the two weeks' vacation at Fredon, Suss.e.x Co., N. Y., I found twelve nests, a list of which follows. All but three were found on a farm.

One Robin's nest, containing one egg. Deserted for unknown cause.

Two Field Sparrows' nests. Each contained young, almost full-grown birds. One nest had an unfertile egg in it.

One Barn Swallow's nest, containing four eggs.

Two Red-winged Blackbirds' nests, each with four eggs. Both nests were broken up. One was entirely empty and the other contained the sh.e.l.ls of the eggs. I could not find out the cause of this double tragedy.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A HOUSE WREN ENTERING ITS NEST IN A FENCE-POST]

Two House Wrens' nests. Both of these were in fence-posts. I caught one bird with the camera just as it was entering the nest.

Two Chipping Sparrows' nests. One was in an unusual place, on the limb of a Norway spruce that projected over the porch roof. I got some very good photographs of this family, which consisted of the parents and three young. The young were hatched on June 6, and they left the nest on June 15.

One Kingbird's nest, containing three eggs, was on a limb of a willow tree that extended over a pond about ten feet. The nest itself was three feet above the water.

One Flicker's nest. I could not determine the number of young in this nest, but I knew they were there by their hissing at a shadow over the entrance to the nest.

This year the Bobolink appeared in the neighborhood of Fredon for the first time in at least four years, if not more.

Of all the songs of birds I have heard, I like the Bobolink's the best.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LONG-EARED OWL ON ITS EGGS IN AN OLD CROW'S NEST

Photographed by H. and E. Pittman, Wauchope, Saskatchewan.]

The Interesting Barn Owl

By JOSEPH W. LIPPINCOTT, Bethayres, Pa.

With a photograph by the author

The Barn Owl commands my respect. He is the greatest mouse-eating machine I have yet encountered, and as such surely deserves every consideration in these days of crop destruction by rodents. Like most Owls, he does not allow his presence long to remain unsuspected. A loud, harsh scream after nightfall, repeated at the right intervals to keep one awake and echoed by the young Owls when they appear, is his greeting. And well may the little mice s.h.i.+ver in their poor retreats!

I heard the good old Barn Owls again and again during early spring nights, and later found that two, or perhaps more, young ones were generally in or about a hemlock grove not far from the creek and the swampy meadows that make such ideal feeding-grounds and are, in fact, the nucleus of the rodent hosts that spread over the neighboring farms each summer. It was by mere accident, however, that I found a nest.

A neighbor was planning a greenhouse on the site then occupied by his young chickens and, to give security to the gla.s.s, cut down a great storm-battered and fire-scarred b.u.t.tonball tree that stood at one end of his farm buildings. Down it came with terrific force, but without killing three young Barn Owls, which were able to give one of the workmen a big scare when he climbed over the top. And this happened in the middle of August, when one brood was already in the woods!

They were in a deep, dark, ill-smelling hollow, and a weird-looking trio indeed with the white down still clinging over the yellow-brown feathers. What startled the workman was a splendid series of hisses; for they understood how to make the sound about as wickedly as the most poisonous serpent.

A little Owl is generally all grit, and these were the grittiest, bramble-footed propositions I ever expect to handle. Their big eyes kept an unwinking glare fixed on each one who came near, and they leaped like lightning, often all three together, at a hand thrust within reach. It would have been very comical except for the bitter earnestness which the poor little fellows put into their defense, making one feel sorry for them when double gloves prevailed, and they were deposited in a chicken-coop nearby, to prevent interference with the chopping. Then, for hours after the moving, it seemed as if steam were strangely and violently escaping from an ordinary chicken-coop, much to the astonishment of visitors.

Around the tree were many of the small ma.s.ses of fur and bones which Owls disgorge a few hours after meals. These show very well what animals have been taken and, in this case, were most interesting, since the dozens I examined contained the remains of field mice, deer mice, shrews, and moles only. No rabbits, no squirrels, no insects, no little birds! Indeed, there was not a feather of any kind, although the little chickens had been running about and roosting all spring and summer within a few feet--alluring, easy and constantly announcing their presence by seductive peeping.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A YOUNG BARN OWL]

The old hollow must have suffered long use. It opened toward the south through a large limb hole about thirty feet from the ground, and also upward through the broken top of the tree; though that exit was not used, and probably only served to let in a veritable deluge of water during the thunderstorms. No doubt, too, the young Owls amused themselves watching the clouds and the stars pa.s.s slowly over their heads day by day, with the added excitement of a Hawk, Buzzard, or smaller bird now and then. They rested on layers of debris which, when examined, showed that honey bees had once been tenants, and later bats and generations of Owls, perhaps many other birds, for hollows have a strange, interesting history.

The birds themselves seemed about the size of old ones without the full feathering, strong muscle and weight. They were so queer and wore such humorous expressions whenever approached that, from the first, they would have been objects of continual interested observation, were it not for the rather discouraging fact that this almost always brought on a quarrel. The bright light and excited feelings seemed to confuse one so much that he would mistake the others for enemies and pounce on them.

This caused equally fierce retaliation every time, and resulted in all three being scratched about the thighs. Darkening the coop remedied this.

It impressed me then as strange that, with all the birds' show of aggressiveness, there was no snapping of beaks nor marked disposition to bite; but I later found that they did not have the same strength in their beaks as most varieties of Owls, particularly the Great Horned Owls, which crush the skull of a rabbit with such ease. This, I suppose, has something to do with the species' love of very small mammals, which can be torn to pieces and swallowed without trouble by those queer cavernous mouths. Their hooked claws, which gripped me on several occasions, were all right, though and as sharp as needles.

The youngsters were left severely alone until evening, when, with the lessening light, came a quick change. They seemed to lose some of their fear, and to be expectantly listening for something. Every now and then one would utter a rasping cry, which blended harmoniously with the insect chorus and yet could be heard a long distance.

Just as the sun set and the glow still spread over the west, the cries became very insistent, and a shadow seemed to pa.s.s for an instant over the coop as one of the parents flew quietly into a locust tree nearby, and stood there close to the trunk, a mouse dangling from the left foot.

It soon flew out and circled noiselessly, only to disappear very soon, much to the disgust of the coop occupants. Several minutes elapsed, the evening silence broken only by the rasping call and the drum of the katy-dids; then an old Owl circled by bearing a mouse in its beak. It may have been the same bird and the same mouse, the deepening shadows making it impossible to see accurately.

The night being dark, I left my hiding-place and the birds until morning, when it was surprising to find only the smallest of the three in the coop, and that dead. The other two had escaped; but how they squeezed beneath slats which allowed only the tiniest chicks to go through will ever be a mystery to me. I could not even pull out the remaining one. It was much less developed than the other two, both in size of limb and feather, and had evidently succ.u.mbed to the effects of the frightful fall, though its body showed no bruise.

I hunted around the debris of the felled trees, and finally spied the others, which had done some expert climbing and hidden in the darkest corners, one beneath a tree trunk, the other in a leafy top where it had evidently stayed all night, as evidenced by a kind of bed stamped down and lined with surplus food carried there by the parents. Such a supper!

three particularly fine meadow mice and a fat star-nosed mole, all freshly killed and whole.

The youngsters, which at first crouched silently, were in a very bitter frame of mind, so I carried them out by the wing tips--the only satisfactory way I found of handling such a brambly article--and later made them stand in the light for a photograph--a difficult matter, because they ran with all speed for the wood-pile as soon as released.

Just as I thought I had them, after many attempts, one mistook the other for a foe, and, without preliminaries, went for him. However, the other one met the rush feet first and seized the attacking claws before they hit, practically holding down his brother by each foot while he glared into his face in comical fas.h.i.+on, and hissed for all he was worth. This holding hands continued with much comical shaking of heads, until both birds suddenly struck at each other somewhat as roosters do; then they held hands again until separated and put into a deep open-top box for safe-keeping. If left free, dogs, cats, or opossums would most likely have found them through the strong odor so noticeable about young birds of prey. The mice were, however, first cut into pieces and thrust down the apparently hungry birds' throats, while each was held by his feet and neck.

Every night after that the youngsters were visited and fed by the devoted old ones, and always it was with mice of some kind or moles--princ.i.p.ally meadow mice, house mice, white-footed mice, shrews and ground moles--as many as eight sometimes, as shown by the disgorged pellets or uneaten bodies.

The parents also scrupulously cleaned the old box each night. They lived in the hemlock wood across the narrow valley, but in what tree I could not discover. One would appear soon after sunset with some kind of mouse, and by eleven o'clock had apparently satisfied the youngsters'

hunger, for the rasping cries would usually cease and an occasional louder and clearer cry of the old birds pierce the darkness.

One fine morning found the youngsters gone. Day after day they had tried to jump out of the box, each time coming a little closer to the edge.

After this they could be heard calling in the evenings, and sometimes until dawn. Always in the wood, they perched high up side by side or on nearby limbs, and lazily relied on their parents to keep up the good work of providing mice. On dark nights they called much longer than on moonlight nights, which convinced me that the hunting was more difficult then.

Occasionally a parent could be seen standing always very erect on the barn gable overlooking a truck-garden, but usually it would watch from a tree in the marshy meadows, now and then dropping to the ground and staying there a considerable time as if hunting on foot among the gra.s.s clumps, a method which, from the great agility of the young when pursued on the ground and in the brush piles, I can well imagine no cat could improve on.

I tried without success to draw them by imitating their strange cry, and also a mouse's squeak made by sucking loudly on the back of the hand. A Screech Owl and many wild animals would take instant notice of the latter, but not the Barn Owls. Even a rat caught in a trap failed to entice these birds, though several Screech Owls responded at once.

But who has stirred a Barn Owl? Over the dew-laden meadows he stands guard, or perhaps at the edge of the moonlit corn-fields, waiting for the only prey that seems to interest him. He knows the country like a book, the runways of the meadow mouse, the house mouse's path from corn shock to corn shock, the mole's early morning starting point.

Under the old b.u.t.tonball tree the broods of young chickens ran from early morning to night. The owner felt that the large Owls were a menace to his flock and watched for them with a gun. But, with the fall of the old tree and a study of their food, a new light has spread to every farm in that vicinity.