Meals Of Choice

Just before dawn this morning, I noticed some activity at the screech owl box. Through my light gathering binoculars, I saw the screech owl struggling to haul a freshly caught bird through the three inch box opening. There was not yet enough daylight for me to determine detail or colour but it looked like the owl's game was a blue jay. It was also the approximate size and could have been a mourning dove. Either way, the owl was having a very difficult time getting both itself and the prey item into the box. Just when I thought the task was impossible to achieve, the owl managed to enter the box and then, clutching the dead bird with the talons of one foot, pull it in as well. The owl will feed well today in the privacy of the roosting/dining room box. 

Madam owl seems to wear a satisfied expression.

Admiring the little birds at their feeding stations.

Safe from other predators such as hawks or larger owls.

A White Breasted Nuthatch scolds from a safe vantage.

The screech owl is not the only one having a bird feast today. My former feral cat, Ellie Mae, once led a paw to mouth existence. She would wolf down anything on offer. A tad spoiled nowadays, she refuses all commercial cat food unless it is the treat variety that comes in small packets. She will, however, accept roast chicken from the grocery store deli. So once a week I buy one. I eat the white meat and she eats everything else but the bones. Everyone but the chicken is happy. 

Ellie Mae went from rags to riches.