The barn owl is a cosmopolitan bird. It is an adaptive species, and so
has been able to make itself at home all the world over. Like every
widely distributed species, including man, it has its local
peculiarities. The barn owls of India are somewhat different from those
of Africa, and these latter, again, may be readily distinguished from
those that dwell in Europe. This any one may see for himself by paying a
visit to the Zoological Gardens at Regent’s Park, where barn owls from
all parts of the world blink out their lives in neighbouring cages.
Needless to say, species-mongers have tried to magnify these local
peculiarities into specific differences. The European bird is known as
_Strix flammea_. An attempt was made to differentiate the Indian barn
owl. If you look up the bird in Jerdon’s classical work you will see that
it is called _Strix javanica_. Jerdon’s justification for making a new
species of it was its larger size, more robust feet and toes, and the
presence of spots on the lower plumage. If such were specific differences
we ought to divide up man, _Homo sapiens_, into quite a large number of
species: _Homo major_, _H. minor_, _H. longirostris_, _H. brevirostris,_
etc.
However, neither with the barn owl nor with man has the species-maker had
his own way. Ornithologists recognise but one barn owl. This bird, which
is frequently called the screech owl, is delightfully easy to describe.
Everybody knows an owl when he sees one; but stay, I forgot the German
Professor, mentioned by Mr. Bosworth Smith, who held up in triumph the
owl which he had shot, saying: “Zee, I have shot von schnipe mit einem
face Push cat.” Let me therefore say it is easy enough for the average
man to recognise an owl, but it is quite another matter when it comes to
“spotting” the species to which an individual happens to belong. As a
rule the family likeness is so strong as to overshadow specific
differences. The barn owl, however, differs from all others in that it
has a long, thin face. Take any common or garden owl, and you will
observe that it has a round, plum-pudding-like head. Place that owl
before one of those mirrors which make everything look long and thin, and
you will see in the glass a very fair representation of the barn owl. The
face of this owl, when it is awake, is heart-shaped; when the bird is
asleep it is as long as that of a junior Madras Civil Servant as he looks
over the Civil List. Whether awake or asleep, the bird has an uncanny,
half-human look. It is innocent of the “ears” or “horns” which form so
conspicuous a feature of some owls. In passing, I may say that those
horn-like tufts of feathers have no connection with the well-developed
auditory organ of the owl.
The barn owl’s face is white, as is its lower plumage, hence it is
popularly known in England as the white owl. The back and upper plumage
are pale grey. The tail is buff, and there is a good deal of buff
scattered about the rest of the plumage; it is on this account that the
bird is called _flammea_.
The barn owl is, I believe, common in all parts of India, but it is not
often seen owing to its strictly nocturnal habits. It ventures not forth
into the dazzling light of day as does that noisy little clown, the
spotted owlet (_Athene brama_). Should it happen to be abroad in daylight
the crows make its life a burden. Friend Corvus is a very conservative
individual. He sets his face steadfastly against any addition to the
local fauna. As he seldom or never sees the barn owl, he does not include
it among the birds of his locality; so that when one does show its face,
the crows proceed to mob it. Their efforts are well seconded by the small
fry among birds, who seem instinctively to dislike the whole owl tribe.
During the day the barn owl sleeps placidly in the interior of a decayed
tree, or in a tomb, mosque, temple, or ruin, or even in the secluded
verandah of a bungalow. The last place of abode is unsatisfactory from
the point of view of the owl, for Indian servants display an antipathy
towards it quite as great as that shown by the crows. They believe that
the owls bring bad luck, and are in this respect not one whit more
foolish than ignorant folk in other parts of the world. This useful and
amusing bird is everywhere regarded with superstitious dread by the
uneducated.
It lives almost exclusively on rats, mice, shrews, and other enemies of
the farmer. And as an exceptional case it will take a young bird, which
is usually a sparrow. Most people will agree that we can spare a few
sparrows; nevertheless, that cruel idiot, the gamekeeper, classes the
barn owl as vermin and shoots it whenever he has the chance. This is
fairly often, owing to the confiding habits of the creature. It will
enter a bungalow after rats or moths, and will sometimes terrify the
timid sleeper by sitting on the end of his bed and screaming at him!
The owl is blessed with an appetite that would do credit to an alderman.
Lord Lilford states that he saw “a young half-grown barn owl take down
nine full-grown mice, one after another, until the tail of the ninth
stuck out of his mouth, and in three hours’ time was crying for more.”
Let me anticipate the captious critic by saying that it was the owl and
not the tail of the ninth mouse that, like Oliver Twist, called for more.
Moreover, the tail did not, as might be supposed, stick out because the
bird was “full up inside.” The barn owl invariably swallows a mouse head
first; it makes a mighty gulp, with the result that the whole of the
mouse, except the tail, disappears. Thus the victim remains for a short
time in order that the owl may enjoy the _bonne bouche_. Then the tail
disappears suddenly, and the curtain is rung down on the first act of the
tragedy. The second and third acts are like unto the first. The last act
is not very polite, but it must be described in the interests of science.
After an interval of a few hours the owl throws up, in the form of a
pellet, the bones, fur, and other undigestible portions of his victims.
This is, of course, very bad manners, but it is the inevitable result of
bolting a victim whole. One vice, alas! leads to another.
Kingfishers, which swallow whole fish, likewise eject the bones. This
habit of the owl has enabled zoologists to disprove the contention of the
gamekeeper that the barn owl lives chiefly upon young pheasants. The
bones found in these pellets are nearly all those of small rodents.
The screech owl, as its name implies, is not a great songster. It hisses,
snores, and utters, during flight, blood-curdling screams, which
doubtless account for its evil reputation. It lays roundish white eggs in
a hole in a tree or other convenient cavity. Three, four, or six are
laid, according to taste. I have never found the eggs in India, but they
are, in England at any rate, laid, not in rapid succession, but at
considerable intervals, so that one may find, side by side in a nest,
eggs and young birds of various ages. I do not know whether the owl
derives any benefit from this curious habit. It has been suggested that
the wily creature makes the first nestling which hatches out do some of
the incubating. Pranks of this kind are all very well when the nest is
hidden away in a hole; they would not do in an open nest to which crows
and other birds of that feather have access.
[Illustration: THE COMMON KINGFISHER. (ALCEDO ISPIDA)]