Bird of the Week: Western Screech Owl

Species: Western Screech Owl, Megascops kennicottii

Family: Strigidae

Sign: Libra

Favorite hobby: Perfecting the most intimidating glare

Dear reader, 

I am excited to introduce you to the first Bird of the Week of the semester, the humble Western Screech-Owl. At a far less intimidating stature than the Northern Barred Owl that haunts the canyon, their wingspan averages 55 cm. They are one of the smaller owls in the U.S. Northwest, and like their small owl brethren, they hunt bugs and small rodents like mice more frequently than larger prey. Despite their diminutive size, Western Screech-Owls have no lack of personality and are known for defending their territory fiercely, even against much larger creatures. When I heard these owls in the past, they sounded like nocturnal woodpecker, their ‘hoos’ divided up into shorter chirps. It’s sort of how a ‘hoo’ would sound if your back was being repeatedly karate-chopped. Western Screech-Owls have striking features, looking particularly devious because of their bright yellow eyes. Their ear tufts are sometimes visible as well, which doesn’t lessen the effect. These owls are most likely to be seen at night when they are hunting, as they usually spend the day in their tree-hole nests sleeping or tending to their brood. Like other owls, they exhibit the elegant characteristic of soundless flight to better approach their prey. Comb-like serrations on the leading edge of their wing feathers break up the air that usually creates noise when a bird flies. The soft fringe on the trailing side of the feathers additionally dampens the sound. According to research by Krista Le Piane, an expert at the University of California, fishing owls have narrower combs, making their flight noisier, and rodent-hunting owls, like the Western Screech-Owl, have wider combs and are more silent in their flight. Owl’s large wings in comparison to their body mass also allow them to fly unusually slow, as low as 2 mph. The Western Screech-Owl is suitably adjusted to catch prey that rarely knows what’s hit them until it is already too late. What perfected functionality! I have loved these sweet little Strigiformes for a long time, and count them among the numerous reasons why I started bird-watching in middle school. They raised their broods year after year in the enormous pecan tree beside my childhood home. I listened every twilight in the spring for their endearingly alarming calls and frequently spotted them glaring down at me from branches near their nest. On the luckiest of occasions, I would quietly climb out onto the roof on the side of the pecan tree and hear their calls closer than ever, perhaps even spotting their glowing yellow eyes almost level with mine. I truly felt that we grew up together in a sense, my own ‘fledging’ period of childhood taking place alongside those of the brood. I watched them grow, and I liked to think as well that they were watching me. One, in particular, I named Poot (pre the infamous Poot Lovato), and continued on the legacy to each batch of young, one being the Poot of the bunch. One night, I heard a more urgent sound than usual and found that one of the fledglings had gotten caught in the chain link fence along the perimeter of our yard. With gardening gloves to avoid inadvertent clawing, my dad tactfully removed it from the chain link and held it up to the tree to be along its merry way. The fledgling, either paralyzed or unafraid, gazed listlessly up at the tree for a minute and finally made its way clumsily through the air back up to its nest. Our cohabitation did not last forever, unfortunately: construction began next door and the family did not return the spring after I turned 9. While my sadness was considerable, and I long kept a framed photo of Poot in my room, I am grateful to have shared my life in some way with the lovely Western Screech-Owl, even if ephemerally. If you happen to spot one on a late-night canyon galavant, do say hello for me!