12 A-BIRDING ON A BRONCO. 



his parent and then scudded back to the nest Jiole, 

 keeping low to the ground as if afraid of being 

 seen, or of disobeying his mother's commands. 

 When the ranchman came with his cows the 

 small owls ducked down into their burrows out of 

 sight. 



Romulus, the collie, went up to the burrows 

 and the old owls came swooping over his back 

 screaming shrilly — the milkers told me that they 

 often struck him so violently they nipped more 

 than his hair! When the owls flew at him, 

 Romulus would jump up into the air at them, 

 and when they had settled back on the fence 

 posts he would run up and start them off again. 

 The performance had been repeated every night 

 through the nesting season, and was getting to be 

 rather an old story now, at least to Romulus. The 

 ranchman had to urge him on for my benefit, and 

 the owls acted as if they rather enjoyed the s})ort, 

 though with them there was always the possibil- 

 ity that a reckless nestling might pop up its head 

 from the ground at the wrong moment and come 

 to grief. It would be interesting to know if the 

 owls were really disturbed enough to move their 

 nest another year. 



When Canello and I faced home on our daily 

 circuit of the valley, we often found the vineyard 

 well peopled. In April, when it was being culti- 

 vated, there was a busy scene. All the black- 

 birds of the neighborhood — both Brewer's and 



