82 OUR FEATHERED FRIENDS. 
He did cease to spit and growl at us in a day or two, 
but he never seemed to return our good feeling or to 
place any trust in us. He slept or blinked all day, and 
when night came he was hungry. We taught him to 
take pieces of raw beef from the end of a long stick, not 
daring to give it to him from our fingers. He seemed to 
enjoy this food. But what suited him best was mice. 
We caught these mice in a trap in the grain bin, and 
gave them to the owl only when they were dead. As 
soon as the bird saw a mouse, he would snatch it 
quickly and growl at it and shake it, and stick his 
sharp claws through it, pinning it to the roost. It 
would take him a long while, sometimes two or three 
hours, to eat a whole mouse, but he never once let go 
of it with his claws. He would tear it to pieces, skin 
and all, and eat the shreds. He seemed to be obliged 
to rest after each mouthful, going to sleep between 
times, still clinging to what was left of his supper, 
and growling if we tried to take it away from him. 
After a while he would disgorge or throw up the 
hard and hairy parts, and then he would take more of 
his food. 
We did not care to keep this owl, and so one evening 
we let him fly away. He was seen in the yard many 
times that summer, and the birds always told us where 
he was, though they never made quite so much noise 
as at first. They grew used to having him around. 
He never lighted on so low a bough again, probably 
remembering how he had been taken the first time. 
