"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop; The barber was busy, and he couldn't stop; The customers, waiting their turns, were reading The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heeding. The young man who blurted out such a blunt question; Not one raised a head, or even made a suggestion;
"Don't you see. Mister Brown," Cried the youth with a frown, "How wrong the whole thing is, How preposterous each wing is, How flattened the head, how jammed down the neck is-- In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant wreck 'tis!
"I make no apology; I've learned owleology, I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections,
And cannot be blinded to any deflections
Arising from unskilful fingers that fail To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail.
Mister Brown, Mister Brown!
Do take that bird down, Or you'll be the laughing stock all over town!"
"I've studied owls, And other night fowls, And I tell you What I know to be true! An owl cannot roost With his limbs so unloosed; No owl in this world Ever had his claws curled, Ever had his legs slated, Ever had his bill canted, Ever had his neck screwed Into that attitude.
He can't do it, because 'Tis against all bird laws. Anatomy teaches, Ornithology preaches, An owl has a toe That can't turn out so! I've made the white owl my study for years, And to see such a job almost moves me to tears!
"Mister Brown, I'm amazed You should be so crazed As to put up a bird In that posture absurd!
To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness; The man who stuffed him don't half know his business!"
"Examine those eyes, I'm filled with surprise Taxidermists should pass Off on you such poor glass; So unnatural they seem They'd make Audubon scream. And John Burroughs laugh To encounter such chaff.
Do take that bird down; Have him stuffed again, Brown!"
"With some sawdust and bark I could stuff in the dark An owl better than that. I could make an old bat Look more like an owl Than that horrid fowl,
Stuck up there so stiff like a side of course leather;
In fact, about him there's not one natural feather."
Just then with a wink and a sly normal lurch, The owl, very gravely, got down from his perch, Walked round, and regarded his fault-finding critic, (Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance analytic,
And then fairly hooted, as if he should say:
"Your learning's at fault, this time, anyway;
Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.
I'm an owl; you're another, Sir Critic, good-day!"
~James T. Fields~
"Click on the Barber Pole, for it's history"
This beautiful owl photograph is shown with permission from its owner
