THE BUTCHER BIRD 
Every one who observes the habits of birds soon notices with 
astonishment the regularity with which they return each summer to 
the same spots to breed. This is perhaps not so strange in the case 
of breeding birds; they may be so fastidious in their selection of 
food or of a nesting site that only a few places suit them, or the 
spot where they bred one year may appeal to their affection and so 
be selected again. It is no less evident and more remarkable that 
birds that spend only the winter in our neighborhood often have 
as well defined a home as those that spend the summer. Every 
autumn, about the first of November, if one looks carefully at the 
topmost twigs of the small trees that are scattered about the edges 
of some marsh, the eye may finally catch, perched on the very top, 
the figure of a plump gray bird, with black wings and tail, about the 
size of a Robin. Its tail often moves as if the bird were balancing 
itself. A nearer view would show that its bill was stout and slightly 
hooked, like a hawk’s. Among song birds, it is our largest regular 
winter visitor, and will remain near the same spot till the end of 
March, when it retires northward to breed. The same trees serve 
year after year as look-out posts; no doubt the bird remembers 
where to find the fattest mice and grasshoppers. 
The Butcher Bird, or Shrike, is one of the few birds that seem 
to have developed a sense of humor. I have seen it attack and 
drive off birds far larger than itself, apparently out of simple mis- 
chief. It often indulges in a succession of strange noises, some of 
which resemble the song of the Catbird, but the whole performance 
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