Some weeks later I learned that, just previous
to the incident, several fishermen's dories, with full fares, had been
upset on the east side of the island when trying to land through a
heavy surf. The dead fish had been carried around by the tides, and
the owl had been deceived into showing his method of fishing.
Undoubtedly, in his northern home, when the ice breaks up and the
salmon are running, he goes fishing from an ice cake as a regular
occupation.
The owl lit upon a knoll, not two hundred yards from where I sat
motionless, and gave me a good opportunity of watching him at his
meal. He treated the fish exactly as he would have treated a rat or
duck: stood on it with one foot, gripped the long claws of the other
through it, and tore it to pieces savagely, as one would a bit of
paper. The beak was not used, except to receive the pieces, which were
conveyed up to it by his foot, as a parrot eats. He devoured
everything--fins, tail, skin, head, and most of the bones, in great
hungry mouthfuls. Then he hopped to the top of the knoll, sat up
straight, puffed out his feathers to look big, and went to sleep. But
with the first slight movement I made to creep nearer, he was wide
awake and flew to a higher point. Such hearing is simply marvelous.
The stomach of an owl is peculiar, there being no intermediate crop,
as in other birds.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173