﻿The Home-life of the Red-tailed Hawk 



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which preceded him up the hillside. He neither saw me on the ground nor 

 stopped to reconnoiter, but flew directly on the edge of the nest and began 

 feeding and picking over the young. Unfortunately, the foliage was very 

 thick, or a photograph might have been made from my position on the 

 ground. As my visits became more frequent, the Hawks seemed to recognize 

 the wearer of a brown duck coat as the disturber of their nest. From this 



RED-TAILS, TWENTY-NINE DAYS OLD 



time on I was greeted from afar by a defiant scream of anger, anxiety and 

 parental instinct, while the men who worked in the fields near by were not 

 noticed in the least. 



On my last visit to the Hawks, the nest contained the half-eaten remains 

 of a gopher, and a few feathers which once belonged to a Blue Jay. A Jay 

 had recently been guilty of destroying the home of a House Wren near by in 

 a fence-post, and I earnestly hope it was this bird that met his Waterloo in 

 the sharp talons of the Hawk. 



