Part 21

Returning to the nest on June 12th, nothing was to be seen of either parent, and I feared that they or their offspring had fallen victims to the countless dangers which beset nesting birds and their young. Looking about for some clue to their fate, I found on the ground, near the nest-stub, the worn tail-feathers of the female bird. The molting season had not yet arrived, nor would she have shed all these feathers at the same moment. There could, therefore, be only one interpretation of their presence. Some foe, probably a Sharp-shinned or Cooper's Hawk, since the predaceous mammals for the most part hunt at night when the Chickadee would be snugly sleeping in her nest, had made a dash and grasped her by the tail, which she had sacrificed in escaping. A moment later the theory was supported by the appearance of a subdued looking Chickadee, _sans_ tail, and I congratulated her on her fortunate exchange of life for a member which of late had not been very decorative and of which, in any event, nature would have soon deprived her.

The young proved to be nearly ready to fly, and carefully removing the front of their log-cabin, a sight was disclosed such as mortal probably never beheld before, and Chickadee but rarely.

Six black and white heads were raised and six yellow-lined mouths opened in expressive appeal for food. But this was not all; there was another layer of Chickadees below, how many it was impossible to say without disentangling a compact wad of birds in which the outlines of no one bird could be distinguished. So I built a piazza, as it were, at the Chickadee threshold, in the shape of a perch of proper size, and beneath, as a life-net, spread a piece of mosquito-bar. Then I proceeded to individualize the ball of feathers; one, two, three, to seven were counted without undue surprise, but when an eighth and ninth were added, I marvelled at the energy which had supplied so many mouths with food, and at the same time wondered how many caterpillars had been devoured by this one family of birds.

Not less remarkable than the number of young--and no book I have consulted records so large a brood--was their condition. Not only did they all appear lusty, but they seemed to be about equally developed, the slight difference in strength and size which existed being easily attributable to a difference in age, some interval, doubtless, having elapsed between the hatching of the first and last egg.

This fact would have been of interest had the birds inhabited an open nest, or a nest large enough for them all to have had an equal opportunity to receive food, but where only two-thirds of their number could be seen from above at once it seems remarkable, that, one or more failing to receive his share of food--and a very little neglect would have resulted fatally--had not been weakened in consequence and crushed to death by more fortunate members of the brood. Nor was their physical condition the only surprising thing about the members of this Chickadee family; each individual was as clean as though he had been reared in a nest alone, and an examination of the nest showed that it would have been passed as perfect by the most scrupulous sanitary inspector. It was composed of firmly padded rabbit's fur, and except for the sheaths worn off the growing feathers of the young birds, was absolutely clean. Later I observed that the excreta of the young were enclosed in membranous sacs, which enabled the parents to readily remove them from the nest.

The last bird having been placed in the net, I attempted to pose them in a row on the perch before their door. The task reminded me of almost forgotten efforts at building card houses which, when nearly completed, would be brought to ruin by an ill-placed card. How many times each Chickadee tumbled or fluttered from his perch I cannot say. The soft, elastic net spread beneath them preserved them from injury, and bird after bird was returned to his place so little worse for his fall that he was quite ready to try it again. On several occasions eight birds were induced to take the positions assigned them, then in assisting the ninth to his allotted place the balance of the birds on either side would be disturbed and down into the net they would go.

These difficulties, however, could be overcome, but not so the failure of the light at the critical time, making it necessary to expose with a wide open lens at the loss of a depth of focus.

The picture presented, therefore, does not do the subject justice. Nor can it tell of the pleasure with which each fledgling for the first time stretched its wings and legs to their full extent and preened its plumage with before unknown freedom.

At the same time, they uttered a satisfied little _dee-dee-dee_, in quaint imitation of their elders. When I whistled their well-known _phe-be_ note they were at once on the alert, and evidently expected to be fed.

[Illustration: A CHICKADEE FAMILY

Photographed from nature by F. M. Chapman]

The birds were within two or three days of leaving the nest, and the sitting over, came the problem of returning the flock to a cavity barely two inches in diameter, the bottom of which was almost filled by one bird.

I at once confess a failure to restore anything like the condition in which they were found, and when the front of their dwelling was replaced Chickadees were overflowing at the door. If their healthfulness had not belied the thought, I should have supposed it impossible for them to exist in such close quarters.

A few days later I found their home deserted, and as no other pair of Chickadees was known to nest in the vicinity, I imagine them to compose a troop of birds I sometimes meet in the neighborhood.

Richardson's Owl

BY P. B. PEABODY

With photographs from nature by the author

[Illustration: RICHARDSON'S OWL]

[Illustration]

ON the thirteenth of April last, at Hallock, Minn., while afield in the morning after Migration Report data, I stumbled suddenly upon a Richardson's Owl, in a willow bush, four feet up, on a brush-land side-hill, two hundred yards above the river. A strong wind was blowing, and kept the willow stems a-swaying and the feathers fluttering, while the dullness of an overcast sky made quick exposures impossible. Nevertheless, I hurried home, a mile away, and returned with camera and plates,--'Crown' and 'Stanley.' The bird was still _in situ_, and leaning, as before, against the upright stem nearest him, as a brace against the wind. With stop 16, or a little larger, and time 1/5 to 1/2 second, both according to the conditions of wind and sky, eight exposures were made, beginning at five feet distance, and with waits for lulls in the wind. The bird seemed fearless, but I dared not try to put him on the alert, nor cause him to open his eyes. The eighth exposure was made at about two feet, the camera leisurely dismounted, and the bird then quietly caught about the back, with the left hand, while his attention was distracted with the right.

[Illustration: RICHARDSON'S OWL]

The little captive showed no fight nor did he try to escape so long as I held him by the feet, in an upright position. But when his body was clasped he would struggle vigorously. With all the handling I gave him in taking weights and measures, the only wounding he caused my hands was made in his attempts to secure a better grasp of my holding hand. While not actually tame, from the first he showed ecstatic delight in my stroking of the feathers on the back of his head,--chirping delightedly during the process, with much the manner and voice of a chicken when tucked under the maternal wing.

While spending his first night of captivity in my study, pending careful examination, he dropped upon my book-cases several casts, which are still awaiting analysis. At noon of the second day he was placed in the garret, where he had a measure of darkness and plenty of wing room. Here he ate readily the heads of food that was left convenient, varying this occupation with the tearing to pieces of an old Cooper's Hawk skin. So far as I could judge, he ate