Read Online Owls in the Family by Farley Mowat - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Farley Mowat
Tags: Ages 10 and up
Ads: Link
the nest of a mallard duck built on top of it. Wehad a look into the nest and were wondering how long it would be until the eggs hatched out, when a crow came swooping over the marsh.
He caught sight of our two owls, and just about went crazy. He cawed and cawed until, in about five minutes, the sky was black with crows. The more that came, the braver they all got, and soon they were diving down within a couple of feet of our heads. Dad tried to scare them away by waving his paddle and shouting; but by this time they were so excited they paid no attention to us. I guess no crows had ever caught a pair of owls at such a disadvantage before, and they were going to make the most of it.
Weeps scuttled under my seat and hid between my legs—but Wol, who was perched on the bow of the canoe, wasn’t going to run away. He kept getting madder and madder until he was hissing and clacking his beak in a perfect fury. This made the crows even more excited, and some of them dived so close that the wind ruffled Wol’s feathers.
Finally one crow came a bit too close. Suddenly Wol spread his wings and jumped into the air; and at the same time he gave a sort of half-turn on his side and grabbed at the crow with both sets of talons. There was an explosion of black feathers and the crow went squawking off across the marsh, half-naked.
We didn’t have time to watch him go. When Woljumped, Bruce tried to catch him for fear he would fall in the water and be drowned. And that did it! Next second all of us, except Wol, were in the lake.
The water was only up to our knees, but the lake bottom was slimy black muck. As we scrambled to get hold of the canoe, Bruce and I and Dad got coated from head to foot with slime. Mutt, who had more sense than any of us, abandoned the canoe and headed for the muskrat house. Weeps, who must have thought this was the end, somehow managed to clutch hold of Mutt’s tail, and was towed to the muskrat house. Wol, who had been flying when the canoe upset and who now couldn’t find any place to land, kept circling over our heads, hooting at us to help him down. The crows were going wild; all the ducks and geese in the marsh were excited too; now they started to quack and honk until there was such a row you couldn’t have heard a cannon being fired.
It took us nearly an hour to get back to shore. Dad pushed Bruce and me into the flooded canoe, somehow; then he waded ahead towing us. On the way we stopped at the muskrat house and rescued Mutt and Weeps. Wol finally grew so tired that he had to land somewhere, and he flopped down on my father’s head.
This accident made us so angry with crows—any crows—that we could cheerfully have wrung the neck of everycrow in Saskatchewan. Next morning Dad got out his shotgun and swore he was going to even up the score. He decided he would hide at the edge of a bluff near the lake, where the crows used to gather, and try to call them into range of his gun with a wooden crow-call. Bruce and I and Wol went with him, but we stayed out of sight in the middle of the bluff while Dad tried to get the “black devils,” as he called them, to come close enough to be shot.
But crows are wise birds in some ways. They can recognize a gun a long way off, and some of them must have spotted Dad’s shotgun. He blew and blew on his crow-call, but though there were lots of them around, they all stayed a healthy distance away. Eventually Wol got bored and the first thing I knew he had walked right out into the open and climbed up on a fence post.
The crow-call hadn’t worked. But Wol sure did.
As soon as they saw him the crows forgot all about being cautious, and about my father’s gun; they gathered in clouds and began diving at Wol.
Dad couldn’t miss. His shotgun was banging so steadily it began to sound as if a war had started. After each shot, the surviving crows would climb out of range. Then Wol would begin flapping his wings and hooting insults at them, and they would forget
He caught sight of our two owls, and just about went crazy. He cawed and cawed until, in about five minutes, the sky was black with crows. The more that came, the braver they all got, and soon they were diving down within a couple of feet of our heads. Dad tried to scare them away by waving his paddle and shouting; but by this time they were so excited they paid no attention to us. I guess no crows had ever caught a pair of owls at such a disadvantage before, and they were going to make the most of it.
Weeps scuttled under my seat and hid between my legs—but Wol, who was perched on the bow of the canoe, wasn’t going to run away. He kept getting madder and madder until he was hissing and clacking his beak in a perfect fury. This made the crows even more excited, and some of them dived so close that the wind ruffled Wol’s feathers.
Finally one crow came a bit too close. Suddenly Wol spread his wings and jumped into the air; and at the same time he gave a sort of half-turn on his side and grabbed at the crow with both sets of talons. There was an explosion of black feathers and the crow went squawking off across the marsh, half-naked.
We didn’t have time to watch him go. When Woljumped, Bruce tried to catch him for fear he would fall in the water and be drowned. And that did it! Next second all of us, except Wol, were in the lake.
The water was only up to our knees, but the lake bottom was slimy black muck. As we scrambled to get hold of the canoe, Bruce and I and Dad got coated from head to foot with slime. Mutt, who had more sense than any of us, abandoned the canoe and headed for the muskrat house. Weeps, who must have thought this was the end, somehow managed to clutch hold of Mutt’s tail, and was towed to the muskrat house. Wol, who had been flying when the canoe upset and who now couldn’t find any place to land, kept circling over our heads, hooting at us to help him down. The crows were going wild; all the ducks and geese in the marsh were excited too; now they started to quack and honk until there was such a row you couldn’t have heard a cannon being fired.
It took us nearly an hour to get back to shore. Dad pushed Bruce and me into the flooded canoe, somehow; then he waded ahead towing us. On the way we stopped at the muskrat house and rescued Mutt and Weeps. Wol finally grew so tired that he had to land somewhere, and he flopped down on my father’s head.
This accident made us so angry with crows—any crows—that we could cheerfully have wrung the neck of everycrow in Saskatchewan. Next morning Dad got out his shotgun and swore he was going to even up the score. He decided he would hide at the edge of a bluff near the lake, where the crows used to gather, and try to call them into range of his gun with a wooden crow-call. Bruce and I and Wol went with him, but we stayed out of sight in the middle of the bluff while Dad tried to get the “black devils,” as he called them, to come close enough to be shot.
But crows are wise birds in some ways. They can recognize a gun a long way off, and some of them must have spotted Dad’s shotgun. He blew and blew on his crow-call, but though there were lots of them around, they all stayed a healthy distance away. Eventually Wol got bored and the first thing I knew he had walked right out into the open and climbed up on a fence post.
The crow-call hadn’t worked. But Wol sure did.
As soon as they saw him the crows forgot all about being cautious, and about my father’s gun; they gathered in clouds and began diving at Wol.
Dad couldn’t miss. His shotgun was banging so steadily it began to sound as if a war had started. After each shot, the surviving crows would climb out of range. Then Wol would begin flapping his wings and hooting insults at them, and they would forget
Similar Books
