The Pygmy Owls 
to interpret this, save as the passage of the lime and phosphates of their 
victims’ bones, which alone their voracious systems reject. 
In spite of his insignificant size, the Pygmy is a dashing little brigand, 
and no bird up to the size of a Robin is safe from its clutches. So bold is he 
that upon one occasion, when Mr. Bowles threw a large stick at one, the 
Owl charged at the passing missile with all imaginable fury. The diet 
descends not infrequently to insects, but squirrels of twice the Owl’s 
weight are promptly seized when occasion offers. Dark days are as good 
as night to them, and they are sometimes abroad on bright days as well. 
The flight of the Pygmy Owl is not muffled by softened wing-linings, 
as is the case with the Short-eared and others which hunt much a-wing; 
it is rather pert and noisy, like a Shrike’s. Like a Shrike, also, in extended 
course it dives with closed wings, then opens suddenly and flutters up with 
rapid strokes to regain the former level,—describing thus successive loops 
of flight. 
The Pygmy Owl "sings” in a small hollow voice, klook - klook - klook 
look look look look look look , with an effect for tempo something like that 
produced by the accelerating rebound of a tiny wooden mallet, struck on 
resonant wood, in quality something between this and the pectoral quaver 
of the Screech Owl. To our great coarse ears it is, of course, ridiculously 
inoffensive, but how like the knell of doom it must sound to a trembling 
Chickadee! 
Even more characteristic of the bird’s presence in the forest is a weird, 
tolling note, ventriloquial, elusive, and most marvelously penetrating. 
At some distance it meets the ear as a mellow rounded took or tddddk , for 
it must not be conceived too short, nor yet as other than a monosyllable. 
At close quarters, however, one detects a premonitory sibillation, and at 
the end a gurgling, muffled ring. The whole becomes then (si)poolk(ngh ), 
and it may be best imitated by a whistle which is conscientiously modified 
by attendant grimaces. Nor is it easy to exaggerate the penetrating 
character of this sound. When I first ran it down, I left camp with expec¬ 
tation of encountering its author somewhere within a hundred yards. I 
followed the siren call through a fringe of woods, across a bit of prairie, 
through a swamp, over a wooded hill, and into the depths of the forest 
beyond, where, at the summit of a grim fir tree, at a height of two hundred 
feet, and at a distance from camp of more than one mile , I made out the 
instigator of the pleasant exercise. Nor had I been deceived by the 
pixie’s flitting, for upon returning to camp, the notes were presently just 
as conspicuous as they had been at the outset; and subsequent study 
proved that that Owl was confined in his range to just that particular bit 
of woods. 
Coming south for the winter of 1912-13 Air. Brooks amazed us by 
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