Bird lore - Project Puffin

Screech Owl Johnnie 309
that he might try to move and fall off the trellis, once more becoming a prey-
to cats. As soon as Goldilocks had eaten her dinner, she hurried out to see if
he were safe, and ran back reporting that he was fast asleep. And later, when
I started on my afternoon bird-rounds, his eyes were still tight shut.
While I was out, I heard a commotion in the grove and found that the
Town Crier had again been rousing the neighborhood, for besides himself,
two California Purple Finches, a Golden Pileolated Warbler and a Western
Tanager were sitting around, as if waiting to see what their new and terrible
neighbor proposed to do. The old Owl had withdrawn to the shadiest edge
of the grove, where it could finish its nap most comfortably, but at the outcry
gave a low quavering call as if to see if all was well with its family. When
answered by its mate and one of its young, it scratched its head and plumed
its feathers contentedly. As it did nothing worse, its anxious auditors finally
dispersed.
At dusk I heard troubled monosyllabic calls, for Johnnie was not where
he had been left by his parents, but he evidently informed them of his where-
abouts, for the next morning he had disappeared from the trellis. That after-
noon, to my surprise, I found one of the old Owls perched on a dead tree outside
the grove. What was it doing in the open in the daytime? The explanation
was not far afield. Below it, on a charred stump only a few feet above the
ground sat little Johnnie, sorely in need of guardianship.
For three days after that, ornithological investigations were made difficult
by the last throes of the Oregon rainy season. On the fourth day, during a
short clear interval, on passing the Screech Owl grove, I heard the low familiar
tremulous note and hurried in through the wet ferns. After a disappointing
silence there was a low call and an answer, followed by the rattling of branches
almost over my head, when one of the old Owls flew two or three rods across
the grove to the tree in which its mate sat, soon going on, its big brown wings
disappearing in a dark thicket. W'hen a small, quavering voice came from
the edge of the grove, the remaining parent flew out in its direction. Happening
to raise my eyes, I discovered Johnnie on a hemlock branch hugged up against
the trunk, safely up from the ground at last. When the wind rushed through
his tree and swayed his branch, he turned his head, but only cuddled closer
to the trunk, and, fluffing up his feathers, put his bill down into them. When
his parent called, there was no answer, and when the rain came down again
and I went out through the ferns beside him, though I spoke, the little gray
figure, gray as the bark of the hemlock, sat with tightly closed eyes and
answered me never a word.
The next day I found an Owlet that seemed to be smaller and more helpless
than Johnnie sleeping well out on a branch. Soon after, owlish noises were
followed by a fall. Forcing my way over logs and through brush and ferns
I'finally reached a burned-out stump. Down in the bottom of the blackened
pit sat the poor little Owl ! Later in the afternoon I heard infantile Owl talk