The White-rumped Shrikes 
A CONFIDING CHILD 
larks, a meadow mouse, and young pocket rats. The heads of the 
mice and rats were eaten first; but the heads of the horned toads 
were usually allowed to remain on the thorns. The shrikes do 
not appear to care for the lizards as they are usually allowed 
to remain and dry on the thorns. I have broods of 
young chickens running about the place, including one 
brood without a mother. None of these have been 
molested by the shrikes.” 
The Shrike possesses to 
perfection the power of dis¬ 
gorging indigestible por¬ 
tions of its quarry. Whether 
it be the elytra of beetles or 
the bones and hair of a 
mouse, after an hour or so of 
digestive attention, during 
which time the nutritive 
materials have all been 
extracted, up comes a compacted pellet of waste—a cough and a sneeze 
and the trouble is over for that time. The Shrike has, therefore, no 
need to “Fletcherize,” for he possesses an ironclad guarantee against 
dyspepsia. ‘‘Tummy aches” are presumably a thing unknown in the 
Shrike nursery, and babies have never to be warned against the unhappy 
consequences of greed. If a stink-bug or a Calosoma beetle proves 
recalcitrant before digestive amenities, he has only to unswallow the 
offending morsel, and the incident is closed without prejudice. 
Every one has heard the harsh churning or buzzing notes of the 
Shrike, but few know him as a songster. Those who have not heard 
the White-rumped Shrike sing, have missed a treat. He begins with 
a series of rasping sounds, which are probably intended to produce 
the same receptive condition in his audience which Ole Bull secured 
by awkwardly breaking one string after another on his violin till only 
one was left. There, however, the resemblance ceases, for where the 
virtuoso could extract a melody of marvelous variety and sweetness 
from his single string, the bird produces the sole note of a struck anvil. 
This pours forth in successive three-syllabled phrases like the metallic 
and reiterative clink of a freely-falling hammer. The chief difference 
which appears between this love song and the ordinary call of warning 
or excitement is that in the latter case the less tender passions have 
weighted the clanging anvil with scrap iron and destroyed its resonance. 
Heard at close quarters, as when the observer is tampering with a nest, 
these scolding notes are exceedingly offensive, even terrifying; yet I 
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