456 THE AMERICAN COOT. 
Nest, an elevated platform of dried cat-tail leaves and grasses in heavy growth 
of marsh, or surrounded by water. Eggs, 6-15, usually about 10, pale buffy or 
cream color, moderately sprinkled with rounded spots and dots of burnt umber, 
sepia or black. Av. size, 1.88 x 1.32 (47.8 x 33.5). 
General Range.—North America from Greenland and Alaska southward to 
the West Indies and Veragua. 
Range in Ohio.—Abundant during migrations. Not common summer resi- 
dent in swamps, along southern shore of Lake Erie, as also upon the Reservoirs 
and in extensive marshes of the interior. 
UP to a dozen years ago the Coot or Mud-hen, as it is commonly called, 
was considered “no game,” and many were the expressions of contempt cast 
upon the humble creature. Its flesh was “‘stringy,” ‘“‘fishy,” “tough’’ and 
“loud,” and its pursuit was voted too tame for any but six-year-olds. As. Dr. 
Wheaton said of them: ‘They are considered a nuisance by sportsmen, and 
a fraud by amateurs who sometimes mistake them for ducks.” But recently, 
because of the amazing dearth of ducks, sportsmen have professed a change 
of views with regard to them, and an inn-keeper, well known to the brethren, 
is wont to declare that there is nothing superior to the flesh of a Coot well 
smothered in onions. However that may be, the battle is on now, and the 
issue for the Coots will shortly prove decisive. 
Last year at the Licking Reservoir I was permitted to witness a chap- 
ter in “The Education of a Coot ;” subtitle: “How a flock of Coots melts away 
on an autumn day in our hospitable land.” When I went out upon the water 
in the gray of a crisp October morning, the Coots lay scattered about, half- 
anchored on the banks of pickerel-weed, asleep. As the day began to dawn 
they gathered just off-shore into one immense flock; and as the sun rose I 
drifted down upon them and came within a hundred feet, as they lay huddled 
together like sheep, five hundred strong. ‘The sight moved the artist in me, 
and I ached to slip the camera but the sun was too low to admit of taking a 
snap-shot, and I pulled off without molesting the birds. ‘To tell the truth, I 
had not thought of its being sport to kill Coots. but two boys soon disabused 
me. Hurrying up to seize the opportunity I had let pass, they fired charge 
after charge and picked up fifteen birds. ‘The Coots were badly scattered, 
but even after the attack, separate bunches were studied at close range, and 
1 refused a dozen opportunities to deliver murderous shots. Returning after 
breakfast, I found the shooting mill in full swing. Not “kids” this time, but 
full-grown men, gentlemanly sportsmen, to the number of a dozen were bang- 
ing right and left. I lay by and watched for half an hour or so listlessly, and 
then seeing the birds were doomed (wretched excuse!), I chimed in half- 
heartedly. 
It was now for the first time that I saw the Coot as a flying bird. Every 
one is familiar with the shuffling manner in which it rises from the water, 
and lumbers off at a low height to splash down again at what it supposes a 
