WESTERN HORNED OWL 323 



Mexico, * * * when I heard the weird, thrilling whoo-whoo-whhuu of an owl 

 ahead of me. 



I peered from a clump of low juniper bushes and saw, about 20 yards to the west, 

 the tall, nearly branchless trunk of a dead yellow pine, its upper part sharply 

 outlined against the cold, clear, roseate sunset sky beyond. And there, perched 

 side by side on a stub of a branch jutting out to the north, way up near the top, I 

 beheld two very large and magnificent Western Horned Owls. 



In a moment one of the pair suddenly tipped head downward on the branch 

 until hi6 beak was a bit lower than the level of his feet, dropped his wings, thrust 

 up his short tail, and fluffed his soft feathers, making him appear even larger than 

 he was, and at the same time poured out a long-drawn, haunting, thrilling, qua- 

 vering hoo-hoo-whooho-uhuhuuu-ivhhhhuuu. As the call ended he (or she) at once 

 popped back into upright position on the stub again. 



Immediately, the other Owl fluffed its feathers and tipped forward and down- 

 ward and hooted as had its mate, though I could easily detect quite a difference in 

 the calls. It swung back upright again, and I could plainly see one and then the 

 other snap its curved beak sharply and could hear the clicking of them on the 

 crisp air. 



Then, as if by some sign, they simultaneously turned their broad 'faces' to each 

 other and began rubbing their beaks together, for all the world as if they were 

 kissing and making love, much after the fashion of Pigeons and Doves. A few 

 seconds of this, and they both swung down on the stub at the same time and 

 hooted their eerie calls again. Then they straightened up and billed some more. 



For several minutes they kept up this unusual performance, alternately hooting 

 and billing, sometimes one hooting at a time, sometimes both at once, and always 

 there was the snapping of their beaks mixed in. 



Once a prowling coyote made a slight rustling in the sere oak leaves as he slipped 

 through the brush in a small ravine several yards to the rear of them. * * * 

 I could tell by their actions that they had discovered the animal at once, but the 

 pair seemed to realize that a coyote could not climb trees, * * * and in a 

 few moments the two settled back to their courting once more, evidently no longer 

 concerned about the animal. 



I watched there till the shadows in the canyons and thickets grew black and 

 mysterious and night had settled in earnest. Then, after a bit, I tried a new tactic. 

 I hooted, quavering, long-drawn-out, as nearly as I could imitate their weird calls. 

 They did not seem alarmed, but were immediately attentive to the sound. First 

 one, then the other, would answer me, but they ceased their billing and love- 

 making. 



Nesting. — The western horned owl makes her nest early in the year 

 in a small cave, or on a ledge, or a cliff; in a hollow tree; or on an old 

 crow, raven, or hawk nest. Under primitive conditions, there were 

 so many owls in comparison with the available sites that some were 

 no doubt forced to utilize whatever places might be vacant, making 

 it difficult for us to determine if there ever was any real preference; 

 and if so, for what. 



Bendire (1892) says: "In the neighborhood of Nueces Bay, in 

 southwestern Texas, they nest in holes in high banks." Lacey (1911) 

 writes that in other parts of Texas these owls nest in caves in bluffs 

 and on the tops of squirrel nests in trees. Carroll (1900) says that 

 they adopt "the nests of Buteos and Caracaras. Breeding begins in 

 January. Have found their nests far out in the prairie in small 



