COMMON CARRION HAWK 71 
Before everything, however, the Chimango is a 
vulture, and is to be found at every solitary rancho 
sharing with dogs and poultry the offal and waste 
meat thrown out on the dust-heap; or, after the 
flock has gone to pasture, tearing at the eyes and 
tongue of a dead lamb in the sheepfold. When the 
hide has been stripped from a dead horse or cow on 
the plains, the Chimango is always first on the scene. 
While feeding on a carcase it incessantly utters a 
soliloquy of the most lamentable notes, as if pro- 
testing against the hard necessity of having to put 
up with such carrion fare—long querulous cries 
resembling the piteous whines of a shivering puppy 
chained up in a bleak backyard and all its wants 
neglected, but infinitely more doleful in character. 
The gauchos have a saying comparing a man who 
grumbles at good fortune to the Chimango crying 
on a carcase—an extremely expressive saying to 
those who have listened to the distressful wailings 
of the bird over its meat. In winter a carcase attracts 
a great concourse of the Black-backed Gulls; for 
with the cold weather these Vultures of the sea 
abandon their breeding-places on the Atlantic shores 
to wander in search of food over the vast inland 
pampas. The dead beast is quickly surrounded by a 
host of them, and the poor Chimango crowded out. 
One at least, however, is usually to be seen perched 
on the carcase tearing at the flesh, and at intervals 
with outstretched neck and ruffled-up plumage 
uttering a succession of its strange wailing cries, 
reminding one of a public orator mounted on a 
