The Interesting Barn Owl 



By JOSEPH W. LIPPINCOTT, Bethayres. Pa. 

 With a photograph by the author 



THE Barn Owl commands my respect. He is the greatest mouse-eating 

 machine I have yet encountered, and as such surely deserves every 

 consideration in these days of crop destruction by rodents. Like most 

 Owls, he does not allow his presence long to remain unsuspected. A loud, harsh 

 scream after nightfall, repeated at the right intervals to keep one awake and 

 echoed by the young Owls when they appear, is his greeting. And well may the 

 little mice shiver in their poor retreats ! 



I heard the good old Barn Owls again and again during early spring nights, 

 and later found that two, or perhaps more, young ones were generally in or 

 about a hemlock grove not far from the creek and the swampy meadows that 

 make such ideal feeding-grounds and are, in fact, the nucleus of the rodent 

 hosts that spread over the neighboring farms each summer. It was by mere 

 accident, however, that I found a nest. 



A neighbor was planning a greenhouse on the site then occupied by his 

 young chickens and, to give security to the glass, cut down a great storm- 

 battered and fire-scarred buttonball tree that stood at one end of his farm 

 buildings. Down it came with terrific force, but without killing three young 

 Barn Owls, which were able to give one of the workmen a big scare when he 

 climbed over the top. And this happened in the middle of August, when one 

 brood was already in the woods ! 



They were in a deep, dark, ill-smelhng hollow, and a weird-looking trio 

 indeed with the white down still clinging over the yellow-brown feathers. 

 What startled the workman was a splendid series of hisses; for they understood 

 how to make the sound about as wickedly as the most poisonous serpent. 



A little Owl is generally all grit, and these were the grittiest, bramble- 

 footed propositions I ever expect to handle. Their big eyes kept an unwinking 

 glare fixed on each one who came near, and they leaped like lightning, often 

 all three together, at a hand thrust within reach. It would have been very 

 comical except for the bitter earnestness which the poor little fellows put into 

 their defense, making one feel sorry for them when double gloves prevailed, 

 and they were deposited in a chicken-coop nearby, to prevent interference with 

 the chopping. Then, for hours after the moving, it seemed as if steam were 

 strangely and violently escaping from an ordinary chicken-coop, much to the 

 astonishment of visitors. 



Around the tree were many of the small masses of fur and bones which 

 Owls disgorge a few hours after meals. These show very well what animals 

 have been taken and, in this case, were most interesting, since the dozens I 

 examined contained the remains of field mice, deer mice, shrews, and moles 

 only. No rabbits, no squirrels, no insects, no little birds! Indeed, there was 



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