The Specialist Loses Control 300 



The north wind would clean them out before dark and that 

 would mean a colder night. The ice cracked and grunted. 

 The snow lay clean and unmarked except where two trails 

 crossed it. In the mountains there would have been hundreds 

 of footprints to indicate the passing of large and small resi- 

 dents, but so many feral cats and hunting dogs roamed the 

 marsh shores that rabbits were absent and other small mam- 

 mals few. Several hundred gulls sat, or slipped about, on the 

 ice at the mouth of the cove. Only the chickadees retained 

 their activity; they flew from bush to bush and kept up a 

 constant chattering. The storms might begin again but they 

 would manage to find food. 



The storm did begin after a cold night. Snow fell intermit- 

 tently for three days. When I again saw the marsh the snow 

 had deepened and left the baseball field as smooth and white 

 as a mountain meadow. Certainly conditions for the birds 

 had not improved. I looked for bittern tracks as I walked 

 along the shore toward the canoehouse but the snow cover 

 was unmarked. The manager met me and we walked toward 

 the feeding station. 



"How's the restaurant making out?" I asked. 



"Fine. I get a couple of new boarders every day." 



"Has the bittern taken on vegetarian habits? I've been 

 worrying about it?" 



"You had the right hunch. See what's in the garage." 



He opened the door and there was our friend the bittern 

 which lacked the flexibility to deviate. It lay on the floor 

 without moving, but when we got within a yard it opened its 

 bill and hissed. When we stood quietly it lowered its head 

 and watched us closely. 



"The dogs found it on the float this morning," the manager 

 said. "They wouldn't hurt it but they knew something was 

 wrong, for they circled and barked until I came. The bird 

 was so weak that I could pick it up without gloves." 



