THE BIRD OF NIGHT 



ably about three weeks old. As I was examining the 

 odd little fellows, the mother suddenly alighted upon a 

 branch a dozen feet from me, ear-tufts erect, eyes fairly 

 blazing, feathers ruffled, snapping her bill with a sharp 

 clicking sound, and uttering wailing cries which sounded 

 much like the yowling of an angry cat. Indeed she 

 was the ideal of a vixen, as she flitted from limb to 

 limb, with an occasional angry swoop at my head, so 

 near as to strike it with her wings, uttering a harsh 

 exclamation, as she did so, which, I fear, was an owl 

 "swear word." After we all had inspected this prize, 

 we withdrew, and saw the mother go back, almost at 

 once, to her brooding. 



By afternoon the rain had about ceased to fall, and, 

 though it was dark and cold and blustering, as we were 

 to leave the locality early next morning, I decided to try 

 to photograph the owl. A neighboring tree, only six 

 feet from the nest, gave an ideal view point for the 

 camera. I had just finished screwing up the instru- 

 ment, when the owl, who had been making great 

 protests all along, fairly outdid herself. She actually 

 alighted on my head, struck her claws into my cap and 

 really tried to drag me out of the tree. Though spare 

 in build, I proved too heavy for her, and she passed on, 

 assisted by an accelerating shove. Then for awhile I 

 warded her off, but, when I was off my guard, she 

 turned her attention to the camera and alighted on the 

 bellows, into which she sank her claws in vicious frenzy. 

 Finding that she could not drag either of us off, she 



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