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The female then gets up, and the male stands
tall in front of her, exposing two white patches of feathers that
are not normally visible on his breast. His feathers are raised so
he looks bigger than he really is. The female shows white patches
on her breast as well, and the male mounts and copulates, singing
as he does what is technically referred to by the poetic name of "song
during copulation." The female responds with the "copulation
warble" and the "smack" call, and the whole bout ends
with the "tweeter." Afterward the male stands looking down
at the female again, exposing his white patches, and then flies off.
Outside the burrows, which are occupied by the female owls, the diminutive
males stand guard nearly 24 hours a day. By midsummer, the feathers
of the little sentries will be sunbleached lighter than the females'.
Only the female develops a brood patch, and she alone incubates the
clutch of eight white eggs, soiled brown from earth and flea excrement.
The male seems never to sleep, leaving only to hunt or to take a break
during midday, when the heat keeps the predators at bay. In the morning
and early evening the female emerges from the burrow and gives the
rasp call, sending the male off to forage for her food. For five or
six weeks, the male feeds and guards the female and then the nestlings
as well, until finally the family is too hungry for him to manage.
It is about this time, approximately the first of July, that the young
owls come out of the burrow for the first time, to stand near its
entrance flapping their wings and hopping about, watching for a parent
to return with food.
Unlike the young of most arboreal cavity nesters, who must be able
to fly the first time they launch themselves without ever having had
a chance to try their wings, the young burrowing owls have the luxury
of flapping over the prairie, testing their landing ability on rocks
or sticks, missing and falling. They also practice catching prey,
taking turns pouncing on already dead insects. After about two evenings
of actual airborne practice, the young owls are capable fliers, ready
to forage with their parents. By mid-August their rasping calls for
supplemental feeding are ignored by the adults.
Several people have fondly recalled to me their memories of crossing
the plains by car or train and seeing prairie dog towns stretching
for miles out the window, the little inhabitants standing on their
hind legs to improve their visibility. Indeed, prairie dogs were once
so abundant and widespread that naturalist Ernest Thompson Seton estimated
there were 5 billion in the early 1900s. The largest prairie dog town
recorded was in Texas. It measured 100 miles wide by 250 miles long
and contained 400 million prairie dogs. This boggling amount of prime
burrowing owl habitat makes me wonder just how many burrowing owls
were there as well. Now the huge prairie dog towns have disappeared,
their inhabitants poisoned by ranchers for decades. On a more hopeful
note, burrowing owls have exhibited considerable ability to adapt
to new environments, choosing marginal land such as airports and roadsides
and areas disturbed by burning, grazing, and bulldozing, which offer
wide visibility. In the absence of prairie dogs, the owl has adapted
to using ground squirrel and other rodent burrows, provided there
are perches the owls can use as lookouts.
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Secrets of the Nest:
The Family Life of North American Birds
by Joan Dunning |
Review: An intimate
portrait of three dozen bird species from the point of view
of their nests and nesting habits. You won't want to miss the
chapter on burrowing owls, which are local to the Peninsula.
The illustrations, both black-line and color, are enchanting.
— Ann Schwabecher |
 Buy
this book |  Borrow
from the Library |
Excerpted from "Secrets of the Nest:
The Family Life of North American Birds" by Joan Dunning; Houghton
Mifflin, 1994.
Copyright 1994-2001 Joan Dunning; reprinted by permission of the author.
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