Muskrat 



it is quite different from the call-note which they use to attract one 

 another's attention at a distance, or their more rat-like squeaking. 



The signal with which one warns the rest of danger is a 

 smart slap of the muscular tail on the water. 



One morning, before the light had begun to come in the 

 east, 1 was sitting on the margin of a stream where there is a 

 muskrat colony, waiting for the wild ducks that come in from 

 the sea at daybreak. 



Behind me was a dark swamp of heavy old growth hem- 

 lock where the great horned owls were calling loudly to each 

 other. So long as they kept at that distance the muskrats ap- 

 parently paid no heed to their hooting; but the instant that I 

 replied to one of the owls, counterfeiting its hollow, low-toned 

 voice as closely as I could, the nearest muskrat swung his tail 

 in air and brought the flat of it down on the water with a 

 whack, and it was most amusing to hear the succession of whacks 

 that responded all along the edge of the water, farther and 

 farther away, each followed by the hurried plunge of its owner 

 beneath the surface. These great eagle owls are among the 

 worst enemies that the muskrats have to fear, for they will watch 

 patiently, hour after hour, from their ambush among the pine 

 boughs and then suddenly circle out over the meadows without 

 the whisper of a feather. 



When a fox comes nosing along the stream's margin, at 

 dusk, you may hear the warning slap, slap, of rubbery tails 

 from hidden pools and nooks among the rushes, as the muskrats 

 get wind of his presence. But the muskrat's tail has other and 

 more important uses; it is both rudder and propeller as he 

 swims, and a most convenient third leg when he stands up- 

 right to look about, or reach a higher twig when he is browsing 

 in the undergrowth and, unless I am very much mistaken, it 

 also gives him added impetus as he dives headlong into the water. 



All through the summer and early fall the young muskrats 

 live contented home lives with their parents, though not exactly 

 under their protection, except as each depends on all the rest 

 for timely warning at the first sign of danger; paddling and 

 wading about in the shrunken streams and ponds, or curled into 

 little brown, furry balls, fast asleep on the edge of the bank, 

 hidden by the rank growth of flags and bullrushes, among which 

 they have well-trodden paths, leading from place to place. 



"5 



