Two years ago, while briefly deputising for Janus, I mado
some mention in these notes of a young tawny owl to whom I was acting in loco parentis. This likeable bird, which as soon as it could fly spent its days in the woods, used to come regularly into the house at night; but I had to go away for a fortnight and after this separation I noticed (as they say in the divorce courts) a change in its manner, and in the end it faded out of my 'life. This year, from a hollow tree, I acquired another tawny owl which seems if anything even more sociable than its predecessor. It responded well to the same Montessorian treatment, taught itself to fly, spent a couple of days in the tree-tops and rather gratifyingly flew in through my dressing-room window when I returned late at night from a week-end. The next day, flying from one piece of slippery furniture to another, it crash-landed, fell on its side and (I suspect) strained a muscle. Since then this owl has been to all intents and purposes grounded. Its wings, which if often arches in a rather affected manner over its head, look perfectly all right, but it seems to have lost all buoyancy. If I take it out on my shoulder, instead of floating away on to a gate-post it flaps down on to the ground and bustles along with hunched shoulders and a slightly nautical roll, like a retired admiral going to catch a bus. But it seems perfectly cheerful, and I
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