230 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



birds are seldom heard, but late in January and 

 through February, unless the winter be unusually 

 severe, they cry almost incessantly through the 

 woods at this their mating season; toward spring, 

 when the young have hatched and begun to have 

 growing appetites, the wavering cry of the owls, 

 when food hunting, is nothing less than hair-rais- 

 ing. Added to this cry they have a scream, which 

 I think many uninitiated persons have attributed 

 to the wildcats and panthers. This cry is a hideous 

 prolonged scream, sounding more like the voice of 

 a wildcat than any other note I ever heard from 

 the throat of a bird. My owls use it from a high 

 perch with seeming intent to terrify to paralysis 

 all woodland creatures. On wing, just as they 

 plunge into a thicket of bushes or vines striking 

 with full force in order to scare up sleeping birds, 

 they cry in horrid, guttural tones: "Wack! 

 Wack! Wack!" the pair often voicing the cries 

 in a jumble of repellent sounds. In describing 

 the horned owl's scream, Chapman calls it "one 

 of the most blood-curdling sounds I have ever 

 heard in the woods," while Schuyler Matthews 

 says: "No cat on a backyard fence can produce 

 a sound as hideous." 



Always, summer and winter, we have with us an 

 abundance of crows with their "Caw! caw! caw!" 

 Listening to these notes, Morning Face, fresh from 

 a city residence, once remarked to me: "Hark 

 the caw-bird!" In a family discussion, which 



