OWL TALK Curiosity may have killed the cat, but the
poor cat is not the only creature afflicted With curiosity. I came along the side of the wood just before dusk and heard the first owl call up in the pine trees. Something prompted me to repeat the call and I whistled into my cupped palms and waited. The call came back and a second bird took it up. There was a period when I called twice and the owls re- mained silent, and then a third bird said, 'Whoo-whoo,' and soon we were having a wonderful conversation. I began to think that, although I had started it, I was now the sub- ject of the talk. I saw a movement against the sky and one of the owls called from close at hand. Whatever he said brought the second, for I caught a glimpse of wings and saw the pine leaves move as the bird settled. 'Whoo- whoo,' we chorused. The third speaker came in too, but then the conversation flagged. 'Yes,'
I could imagine the three birds saying. 'the poor fellow is a little demented. What gibberish he hoots.'
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