Field Notes—

Owls In The Neighborhood

By Dottie Evans

What can you say about a tiny saw-whet owl the size of your fist that spends its days roosting quietly on a certain branch of a certain cedar tree in a certain park in Brookfield, and allows respectful visitors to come within six feet — and closer — for a better view.

I logged my first saw-whet owl last week when Larry Fischer, president of the Western Connecticut Bird Club, offered to take me to its roosting place, almost guaranteeing that if we hiked to the exact spot where he had first seen it, the owl would be there.

“I’ve been back ten times since I discovered it in early December, and he was gone only once,” Larry said, as we walked quietly down the trail toward a clump of cedar trees on a wooded slope.

It was 10:30 am on a cold, gray Friday with a few snowflakes foreshadowing the nor’easter that arrived late Saturday night. I followed Larry’s pointed finger with my eyes and was able to distinguish the little owl by its brown-and-white-striped body partially covered by feathery greenery. It was sitting perfectly still near the trunk of its cedar tree, but its head swiveled owl-like to gaze at us as we slowly approached.

“I think he recognizes me though I can’t be sure,” said Larry.

I could see that its right claw or talon was firmly attached to the branch, and the left talon clutched a bit of mouse. The mouse’s rump and tail were visible, but the rest was obscured beneath the owl’s fluffy breast feathers.

“Looks like he’s sitting on his dinner,” I remarked facetiously, but Larry explained the owl was more likely “thawing it” in preparation for a feast.

“Saw-whets will catch five or six mice in a single day and bring them back to their roost, then cache the parts they don’t need to eat right away. Usually, they’ll eat the heads first because there’s more protein, and store the rest to freeze in cold weather,” he said.

Sure enough, as I looked around, I noticed several furry masses jammed between branches or impaled on twigs, some with identifiable tails still attached.

Why doesn’t he fly away? I asked.

“Because his instinct is always to stay put during daylight while he’s resting and eating. If he flushed, he might be caught on the wing by a mob of crows or blue jays. By a sharp-shinned hawk or even another owl like a great horned.”

The saw-whet hunts at night, usually locating prey by sound as well as sight. Like most owls that are native to this area, the saw-whet does not migrate south in winter. He prefers to find a suitable roosting tree where he can cache his food while escaping the notice of predators.

“He’s nomadic, meaning he’ll stay in a favorable area for several months, but then he might move somewhere else to breed or establish a nest,” Larry added.

I knew the much larger great horned owls are establishing their territories in January and February because sometimes late at night if the window is open, I can hear them calling. Their deep, guttural five-note calls sound something like “Hoo Hoo Hooooo, Hoo Hoo.”

Another neighborhood hoot owl about the same size as a great horned is the barred owl. Its call is longer — about eight notes —and not so deep. “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?” is the way I’ve heard it described.

Much smaller than the barred is the screech owl, whose call is not at all screech-y, but more ghostlike and quavering. Its descending, whinnying cry reminds me of the mournful wail uttered by the sad, reclining woman on the Mystery lead-in on PBS. While wailing, she waves a limp hanky over her face and falls prostate in grief over some unspeakable tragedy.

“So, what does the saw-whet sound like?” I asked Larry, continuing to gaze at the silent little owl sitting so unconcerned just a few feet from my camera lens.

“Saw-whets are silent most of the year, but during breeding season from March through May, they may call incessantly,” he said.

Later during our return drive to Newtown, he demonstrated the call by whistling a series of one-note “hoots,” saying the saw-whet might go on repeating this for hours on end.

So what can you say about a beautiful little owl that allows you to intrude upon its personal space while it attends to the more important business at hand, which is staying home while thawing its dinner?

Bizarre, and quite wonderful.