Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
voles in about the same light as we might view lobster, steak, or a rich chocolate dessert. In fact, mice
were the vehicles for my two most memorable encounters with a barred owl.
We keep a container of sunflower seeds in our basement garage, and two deer mice took up residence
in it. The container is made of heavy cardboard, and the mice first gnawed a hole through the top, then
scraped shavings off the inside to begin making a nest. I like mice outdoors; they're cute little beasts,
and fun to watch. They don't belong inside the house, however, where they're destructive and dirty, and
where they multiply at an alarming rate. Still, I was reluctant to kill the little creatures without trying to
get them out of the house first.
For three or four days I took the seed container outside each day, tipped it on its side, dislodged the
mice, and hoped they'd take the hint. Fat chance! The next day they were always back in the container,
expanding their nest in preparation, one would assume, for a new crop of mice. The situation was intol-
erable, and my patience finally ran out.
Then Shakespeare appeared for one of his periodic but unpredictable visits. At that point the light
went on: Shakespeare plus mice equaled problem solved. Further, I thought this might be a golden op-
portunity for some great owl photographs. Accordingly, I slung a camera around my neck, picked up
container and mice, and went outdoors.
Shakespeare was perched on a low branch about fifteen feet away, perhaps a dozen feet above the
ground. I put the container on its side, took my camera in one hand, and slapped the container with the
other to scare out the mice. Just as the first mouse started out of the container, I lifted my eyes to view
Shakespeare's reactions and was stunned to see that the owl had already launched and was down to eye
level, coming straight at me!
Before I could even react, the owl landed in the snow with a
flop
no more than two feet from me.
There, for two or three long seconds, we stared at each other, while I looked deeply into those liquid
brown eyes. Believe me, at that range there was not the slightest sign of the benevolent appearance that
distance had always lent. Instead, there was a wild fierceness in that gaze that coursed through me like
an electric shock and made me everlastingly grateful that I was so much larger than the owl. Then the
spell was broken, and the owl levitated effortlessly to its former perch,
sans,
unfortunately, either ro-
dent.
The sequel to this extraordinary encounter took place the following day. The mice were back in the
container, and this time Shakespeare was ensconced on a slightly more distant perch, perhaps sixty or
seventy feet away. Again I booted the mice out of the container, this time a bit better prepared for the
owl's reaction. As before, Shakespeare launched instantaneously when the mice appeared on the run,
headed in his direction. Down he swooped, as swiftly as an avenging Fury, plucked up one of the mice,
and made off with it into the woods. The other mouse, by the way, never returned to the feed container.
The barred owl is not only our most commonly seen owl, but also by far our most vocal owl, both
in the quantity and great variety of its calls. Its colloquial name of “eight hooter” stems from its most
typical call, the familiar
hoohoohoohooo, hoohoohoohoooaww.
The
aww
at the end frequently isn't
