The Horned Owls 
hoo hoo hoo, which arouses anything but mirthful feelings in the listener. 
But these modest notes by no means exhaust the Horned Owl’s 
repertory. As a young man, in Tacoma, the writer once lived in a house 
which immediately adjoined a large wooden church. My chamber window 
looked upon a flat kitchen roof, through which projected a brick chimney 
some ten feet away. At three o’clock one morning a horrible nightmare 
gave way to a still more horrible waking. Murder most foul was being 
committed on the roof just outside the open window, and the shrieks of the 
victims (at least seven of them!) were drowned by the imprecations of the 
attacking party—fire-eating pirates to the number of a dozen. Pande¬ 
monium reigned and my bones were liquid with fright—when suddenly 
the tumult ceased; nor could I imagine through a whole sick day what had 
been the occasion of the terrifying visitation. But two weeks later the 
conflict was renewed,—at a merciful distance this time. Peering out into 
the moonlight I beheld one of these Owls perched upon the chimney of the 
church hard by, gibbering and shrieking like one possessed. Cat-calls, 
groans, and demoniacal laughter were varied by wails and screeches, as of 
souls in torment—an occasion most memorable. The previous serenade 
had evidently been rendered from the kitchen chimney,—and I pray never 
to hear its equal. 
The early nesting of the Horned Owl is the marvel of those eastern 
states whose Februaries are given over to blizzards instead of roses. Fresh 
eggs have been taken in early February, with zero temperatures prevail¬ 
ing, from nests wherein all but the sitting bird was encrusted with snow. 
Here in California, where temperature cuts so little figure in nesting cal¬ 
culations, the Horned Owls hold pretty much to the ancient habit. 
February and March are the usual nesting months, and January 29th 
(1911) at Escondido is the earliest date I can discover. These Owls never 
build nests of their own, in the strict sense, but either occupy some de¬ 
serted nest of Redtail, Magpie, or Crow, or else make shift with the natural 
opening of some ledge or cliff cranny or steep hillside. Shelter is a minor 
consideration, since the bird fears neither storm nor prowling coyote; but 
some degree of elevation, a commanding lookout, is the prime requisite. 
The nesting hollow, whether of sticks or of earth, is lined casually with 
feathers from the bird’s breast. And in this depression two, sometimes 
three, or, very rarely, four, white eggs are laid. These are subspherical in 
shape; in size about that of hens’ eggs, notably small for the bulk of the 
bird; and they require the services of the mother for something over four 
weeks. During the period of incubation the male is in close attendance, 
feeding his mate faithfully upon the nest and keeping a sharp lookout 
for intruders. 
When disturbed, the owners pose in various attitudes, grotesque 
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