Owls and Sparrows

New Zealand Listener, Volume 25, Issue 633, 17 August 1951, Page 9

Owls and Sparrows

by

SUNDOWNER

found himself getting drowsy one day as he watched a nodding owl trying to keep its eyes open watching him. I have seen owls behaving like that in zoos, but never at large. They are either sound asleep when I see them, and unconscious of my presence, or they are wide awake and nat embarrassed at all by the daylight. An owl is JULY 10 calling from my pine trees as I write this note at 3.30 on a bright afternoon. He and his companions sometimes call so continuously during the day that I used to wonder, when I first came here, if the magpies had learnt to imitate the cries that must so often wake them from sleep. To magpies they would not be alarming cries, and I am not sure that they alarm even small birds once darkness has settled down. Nature can be abominably cruel, but sometimes when we think it is cruel its victims are drugged against its terrors. A hen has neither sense nor full sensibility in the middle of the night, and I imagine that the birds which owls eat in the dark suffer less than those which hawks, cats, and weasels eat by day. I try to think, remembering the drowsiness that overcame Dr, Livingstone when the lion was crunching his arm, that even the daylight victims of predatory animals and birds suffer less than we suppose. But that is a little further than wishful thinking will carry me confidently. ik was Thoreau, I think, who 2OR the second time now our calf, which was born on December 13, has kept us awake half the night (and neighbours, too, I fear) bellowing out that she wants a mate. If we had found a mate for her when she called first she

would have been a mother at 15 months, and not quite half grown. In any case, the nearest mate is a Shorthorn with a baleful eye, who stands all day and I suspect most of the night JULY 14 glaring out of a barbed wire enclosure, and weighs about 2000 pounds. It might be easy in her present mood to get our spotless lily into this lion’s den, but I would not wish to be responsible for getting her out. x I don’t know how common precocious calves are, but I know that Lily has

had no forcing food, and is in all other respects a baby. She still comes twice a day to the bucket and tries to suck my coat sleeve when I pull the bucket away, choosing a wire in the fence to slobber over when I reject her. She still likes me to rub the few places she can't herself reach to lick, and can’t persuade Elsie to lick for her. That certainly is not very often, since cows, for some reason I have not yet discovered, are extremely obliging to one another when their co-operative moments meet. Horses help each other, too, but in their case the arrangement is mutual; you bite my back or flank or rump and I will bite yours. But cows don’t lick each other simultaneously. One does the licking, the other the enjoying, and when the service ends, they usually return to hostility again. What makes them complaisant and helpful for a quarter of an hour and meanly selfish for the rest of the day? And how does the animal requiring the service know that the other is in the mood to render it? * x * Y mail today brought me this letter: Auckland, 25 June, 1951 Dear Sir,-I always read with pleasure your articles in the New Zealand Listener and "The Charm of Birds" (8 June) particularly appealed to me, as sparrows and I have been intimate friends for many years. I am therefore writing to tell you that where Viscount Grey and you failed, I have succeeded, I am sure you won't be jealous. At first the birds were, as Viscount Grey said, ‘"‘almcst ostentatiously distrustful,’ but after almost daily visits tor JULY 18 two years to Albert Park | won their confidence and they lost all fear of me. As soon as I appeared, there was a whirr of little wings (music in my ears), and down the birds came on my hands to feed. There was a large tree with a long branch within easy reach and on it there would be perched about a dozen birds in a row. I simply walked up and fed them in turn-no distrust there! Oftem when going up the street to the park sparrows would see me and, in spite of the rush of trams and traffic, would fiy down to take bread from my fingers. One day a photographer was passing the park and took a photo, but the birds were frightened when he came near, and only one remained on my hand, He was more> successful later and got a print showing four sparrows on my hand, Unfortunately, | have only one copy. |. 2 Owing to my age (nearly 85) my visits to Auckland are now only occasional, and my Albert Park friends have, I suppose, passed away. However, at home here, I have many feathered friends. No sooner do I leave the house than they fly down to my feet, but they will not come on my hands yet; though I have not lost hope. I rarely go out without having bread or seed in my pockets, and, all along the half mile walk to the local shops the birds come to me for food. One little cock sparrow at the tram terminus _is particularly cute. When other birds are devouring crumbs, he first waits at my feet to sec whether some seed is forthcoming. This is surely intelligence and not instinct, which, as some experts say, is a natural impulse by which animals (I suppose. ulso birds) are’ guided independently of reason or experience. I mentioned this case to a tram conductor (also a bird lover), who seemed rather incredulous, but one day I roved it to him and he said, "Well, I'll e blowed." As for pigeons, they would come on mv shoulders and arms and I had to "shoo" them away to give the sparrows ae chance.

Yours faithfullv.

WILLIAM

WOODHEAD

Attached to that letter was this one: Auckiand, 16 July, 1951. Sir.-A few hours after he had written the enclosed letter to you on June 25 my father became seriously ill, He passed away on June 29, four days later. I am forwarding the letter and a photograph to you as I feel thet this would have been Dear

his wish.

Yours faithfully.

C. E.

WOODHEAD