The crows are much more apt to discover its
whereabouts than the most careful ornithologist, and they gather about
it frequently for a little excitement. Once I utilized the habit for
getting a good look at the crows themselves. I carried out an old
stuffed owl, and set it up on a pole close against a great pine tree
on the edge of a grove. Then I lay down in a thick clump of bushes
near by and _cawed_ excitedly. The first messenger from the flock flew
straight over without making any discoveries. The second one found the
owl, and I had no need for further calling. _Haw! haw!_ he cried deep
down in his throat--_here he is! here's the rascal!_ In a moment he
had the whole flock there; and for nearly ten minutes they kept coming
in from every direction. A more frenzied lot I never saw. The _hawing_
was tremendous, and I hoped to settle at last the real cause and
outcome of the excitement, when an old crow flying close over my
hiding place caught sight of me looking out through the bushes. How he
made himself heard or understood in the din I do not know; but the
crow is never too excited to heed a danger note. The next moment the
whole flock were streaming away across the woods, giving the
scatter-cry at every flap.
There is another way in which the crows' love of variety is manifest,
though in a much more dignified way.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113