322 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY. 



cling to it patiently while I carry them through any kind of 

 country. When I wish to have them attract other birds I hold 

 them toward a convenient branch and say, " Get off/' which they 

 are very willing to do. Then by whistles or cries I attract 

 some bird's attention, and if it proves to be a titmouse, a wood- 

 pecker, a thrush, or some other excitable bird, the alarm is given, 

 and from all quarters the neighbors come pouring in to join the 

 tumult. Even while holding Puffy on a stick and walking with 

 him, I have had birds attack him. Once a pair of solitary vireos 

 followed me for some distance, one of them flying between my 

 head and the owl three times, apparently not noticing me any 

 more than though I had been a tree. A similar attack from a 

 sharp-shinned hawk was more surprising than pleasant. Some 

 species are less demonstrative than others, and seem to think 

 silence and retreat wiser than vituperation. Cedar-birds, great 

 crested fly-catchers, and scarlet tanagers are three species which 

 seldom greet Puffy noisily. Game birds, as a rule, are too much 

 afraid of me to remain near the owl, and the same is true of 

 water-fowl. Loons have, however, shown curiosity on discov- 

 ering Puffy, and sandpipers clearly dislike him. I tested this in 

 an amusing way one day, by taking Puffy out in my boat to a 

 point just to windward of a solitary sandpiper, and then setting 

 him adrift on a small board. At first the sandpiper did not see 

 him, but as the wind carried the placid owl nearer and nearer the 

 beach, the tattler suddenly discerned him, and became stiff with 

 astonishment. He faced the owl, his head poked forward and his 

 body rigid, then with a wild cry he flew, rising from the water 

 and passing over the trees, away from the lake. 



Whip-poor-wills are not easy birds to watch at night, but they 

 usually fly toward the owl, uttering excited clucks, and fly several 

 times over it before going away to a distance. A mother night- 

 hawk, with young, showed great courage and sagacity in dealing 

 with Puffy. I placed the owl near her nest. She promptly flew 

 down on the side of the owl away from her young, and fluttered in 

 the grass as though wounded. Puffy hopped toward her. She flew 

 a few feet, he followed, she flew a rod, he followed a third time. 

 She flew three or four rods, and, as he hopped on, she rose and cir- 

 cled around him until, if he had seen her nest in the first place, he 

 never could have remembered in which direction it lay. 



The hooting of a barred owl in the daytime, or my imitation of 

 the sound, almost invariably brings birds to the spot. Crows will 

 come a long way in response to the hated call. So will blue jays, 

 and several of the hawks and woodpeckers, hermit and Swainson's 

 thrushes, chickadees, and a few other small birds, including the 

 siskins in winter. Crows, in a particular region, soon learn that 

 a barred owl implies a man in the same thicket, but for the first 



