THE CROW-PHEASANT 
HE deep, sonorous “whoot, whoot, whoot” 
of the crow-pheasant is one of the most 
familiar of the sounds which greet the rising 
sun in India, Centropus sinensis, although 
it is to be heard at all hours of the day, prefers to 
indulge in its vocal exercises in the early morning or at 
the sunset hour; hence its cry is often mistaken for 
that of some belated, or early-rising owl. 
The crow-pheasant, however, is not an owl. With 
the exception of the voice, there is nothing owl-like 
about the bird. It is not a creature of the night. It is 
just a respectable cuckoo which brings up its own 
family. Needless to say, the other members of the 
cuckoo tribe disown it, It is not admitted to any of 
the cuculine clubs, 
For the benefit of those who are not initiated into 
the mysteries of cuckoo society, I may say that the 
qualifications for admission to one of their clubs are, 
firstly, zygodactyle feet, and secondly, the making of 
the following solemn affirmation: “I bind myself 
never, under any circumstances whatsoever, to do my- 
self that which it is possible to make others do for me.” 
The coucal is able to satisfy the former of these con- 
223 
