I have seen the snowbirds twittering contentedly near him. Once I saw
him fly out to sea in the midst of a score of gulls, which paid no
attention to him. At another time I saw him fly over a large flock of
wild ducks that were preening themselves in the grass. He kept
straight on; and the ducks, so far as I could see, merely stopped
their toilet for an instant, and turned up one eye so as to see him
better. Had it been dusk, the whole flock would have shot up into the
air at the first startled quack--all but one, which would have stayed
with the owl.
His favorite time for hunting is the hour after dusk, or just before
daylight, when the birds are restless on the roost. No bird is safe
from him then. The fierce eyes search through every tree and bush and
bunch of grass. The keen ears detect every faintest chirp, or rustle,
or scratching of tiny claws on the roost. Nothing that can be called a
sound escapes them. The broad, soft wings tell no tale of his
presence, and his swoop is swift and sure. He utters no sound. Like a
good Nimrod he hunts silently.
The flight of an owl, noiseless as the sweep of a cloud shadow, is the
most remarkable thing about him. The wings are remarkably adapted to
the silent movement that is essential to surprising birds at dusk. The
feathers are long and soft.
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