Читать книгу Friendly Acres - Peter McArthur - Страница 14

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There must have been a family row. That is the only explanation we could think of. He must have stayed late at a lodge meeting—or sitting up with a sick friend who had been prescribed for recently—or any other reason why. When he got home he must have found the front door locked and she refused to throw down the latch-key. But you shall hear the facts and decide for yourself. After I had started boiling-in on Saturday I happened to pass under a stunted beech tree that still carries most of its last year's leaves. Suddenly, right above my head, there was a surprised flapping, and out of the thickest clump of leaves flew a little screech owl. It made straight for an elm tree that stood with its feet in the water in a nearby swale. Instead of alighting on a branch it swept around the trunk and disappeared. On investigation I found that there was a small hole in the trunk about twenty-five feet from the ground. The little owl must have disappeared into the hole. When a boy came out to the woods to help me in the afternoon I told him about the little owl. As he was wearing rubber boots he waded around in the swale until he got a fair view of the hole. He protested that he could see feathers, and then there was no holding him. Although the elm stood in the water and a slip from it would mean a soaking as well as a bad fall, he must climb it. Leaning a pole against the trunk so as to get a start toward the first branches he sprawled up. I thought the racket would have frightened the owl into leaving the hole, but it did not. When the boy finally reached a branch from which he could look into the hole he announced that the owl was there. Then followed a discussion as to whether it would be safe to put in his hand and pull out the owl.

Although I had handled screech owls in the past, I couldn't guarantee that they would not rend with beak and claw. Finally he wrapped a handkerchief around his hand and took a chance. After a little struggle he pulled out an owl. After describing it—he said its eyes were green—he looked into the hole to see if it was a nest with eggs. Then there was a yell. There was another owl in the hole. Once more the handkerchief was adjusted, and the second owl was brought out into the light. As it fought viciously and tried to bite and scratch we decided that it was the female of the species, and that she was still in a tantrum. She was not in the humour to receive visitors, either owlish or human. While the boy sat on a branch twenty-five feet from the ground, with an owl in each hand, we enjoyed our nature study. The owls were merely bunches of feathers, neither of them weighing more than a few ounces. The hole was evidently their home, although there were no eggs in sight. By the way, neither of us knew just at what season screech owls do their hatching. I seemed to remember that the horned owls have their families in February and March, but could not be sure about it. Anyway, we were not anxious to break up the housekeeping of this pair, for screech owls are famous mousers and destroyers of house sparrows. So they were finally both put back into their hole, out of the glaring sunlight. But why had one of them roosted in a tree while the other was comfortable in the hole? The only explanation we could think of was that there had been a row. Perhaps some ornithologist could explain.