Just why they grow so excited over an owl is an open question.  I have never seen them molest him, nor show any tendency other than to stare at him occasionally and make a great noise about it.  That they recognize him as a thief and cannibal I have no doubt.  But he thieves by night when other birds are abed, and as they practise their own thieving by open daylight, it may be that they are denouncing him as an impostor.  Or it may be that the owl in his nightly prowlings sometimes snatches a young crow off the roost.  The great horned owl would hardly hesitate to eat an old crow if he could catch him napping; and so they grow excited, as all birds do in the presence of their natural enemies.  They make much the same kind of a fuss over a hawk, though the latter easily escapes the annoyance by flying swiftly away, or by circling slowly upward to a height so dizzy that the crows dare not follow.

In the early spring I have utilized this habit of the crows in my search for owls’ nests.  The crows are much more apt to discover its whereabouts than the most careful ornithologist, and they gather about it frequently for a little excitement.  Once I utilized the habit for getting a good look at the crows themselves.  I carried out an old stuffed owl, and set it up on a pole close against a great pine tree on the edge of a grove.  Then I lay down in a thick clump of bushes near by and cawed excitedly.  The first messenger from the flock flew straight over without making any discoveries.  The second one found the owl, and I had no need for further calling. Haw! haw! he cried deep down in his throat—­here he is! here’s the rascal! In a moment he had the whole flock there; and for nearly ten minutes they kept coming in from every direction.  A more frenzied lot I never saw.  The hawing was tremendous, and I hoped to settle at last the real cause and outcome of the excitement, when an old crow flying close over my hiding place caught sight of me looking out through the bushes.  How he made himself heard or understood in the din I do not know; but the crow is never too excited to heed a danger note.  The next moment the whole flock were streaming away across the woods, giving the scatter-cry at every flap.

There is another way in which the crows’ love of variety is manifest, though in a much more dignified way.  Occasionally a flock may be surprised sitting about in the trees, deeply absorbed in watching a performance—­generally operatic—­by one of their number.  The crow’s chief note is the hoarse haw, haw with which everybody is familiar, and which seems capable of expressing everything, from the soft chatter of going to bed in the pine tops to the loud derision with which he detects all ordinary attempts to surprise him.  Certain crows, however, have unusual vocal abilities, and at times they seem to use them for the entertainment of the others.  Yet I suspect that these vocal gifts are seldom used, or even discovered, until lack of amusement throws them upon their own resources.  Certain it is that, whenever a crow makes any unusual sounds, there are always several more about, hawing vigorously, yet seeming to listen attentively.  I have caught them at this a score of times.