144 HOMING WITH THE BIRDS 



feathers were grey with age. He showed scarcely 

 a trace of the dark or even the lighter brown 

 shades of his species, being more of a dirty 

 white and washed-out greyish tan. His big feet 

 and huge nails, and his toes and legs seemed to 

 be encrusted with scale, probably contracted by 

 lack of cleanliness after having torn up prey with 

 them; for he was big enough and had the strength 

 to handle a chicken, a small pig, or even a new- 

 born lamb, although I never heard of an owl taking 

 such animals. His eyes were wide open as was his 

 mouth. He constantly uttered a hissing sound, 

 rapidly turning his head from side to side as he 

 snapped at a bevy of small birds that were torment- 

 ing him. Forgetting everything else — even their 

 fear of each other — all of the denizens of that 

 woods had collected around the owl. Prominent 

 among his tormentors were two crows, two or 

 three blue jays, several kingbirds, while further 

 removed, yet not failing to take a peck at him 

 occasionally, were a number of robins. Several 

 orioles were surprisingly pugnacious. There were 

 a number of sparrows and even little things like 

 warblers and vireos. One summer yellow bird 

 made a streak of light as he dashed chattering past 

 the owl's head, and several wrens were jabbering 

 insanely when they darted in among the other 

 birds. Perhaps the most amazing feature of the 

 spectacle to me was that in combining againsl 

 the owl all of these smaller birds were fighting in 



