Screech Owl 



Sometimes when I am out-of-doors on a dark evening, I sense 

 the motion of muffled wings. I know then that a screech owl is 

 flying above, carried on wings with feathers so fluffy that he can 

 swoop or soar as quietly as a moving shadow. 



A casual glance at the tree limb where he often sits may miss 

 him completely, so closely do his brownish gray feathers merge 

 with the bark. He's not much larger than a male robin. But 

 when you see those round yellow eyes staring straight at you, 

 and those long ear tufts sharply erect at the top of his head, 

 you will know him. He does not announce his presence by 

 screeching, as his name implies, but utters a soft, sad, quivering, 

 tender call. 



The screech owl that lives in my apple tree has found a deep 

 hole there for his nest. After napping through the day, motion- 

 less and silent, storing energy for the hunting hours ahead, he 

 ventures forth at twilight to prey upon mice, small birds, frogs 

 and insects, catching them with his hooked beak, strong feet, 

 and sharp, grasping claws. If the prey is small enough, it is 

 swallowed whole; otherwise it is torn apart and swallowed in 

 large pieces. The flesh is digested, but the bones and other in- 

 digestible parts are formed into compact pellets and are later 

 disgorged from the owl's stomach. 



An owl's eyes are fixed in their sockets. He must, therefore, 

 stare when he looks at you, and turn his head as he looks from 

 one place to another. This accounts for the absurd belief that 

 you can make an owl twist his head off by walking around him. 

 What the owl actually does in such a case is to snap his head 

 quickly around and pick up the view from the opposite side of 

 his body. 



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