It is not at all certain that these owls should be called usurpers or thieves.  They may, in some cases, get entire possession of the holes, but very often they live very sociably with the prairie-dogs, and may, for all we know, pay for their lodgings by bringing in grain and seeds, along with the worms and insects which they reserve for their own table.  Any one who does not possess a habitation of his own, must occasionally expect to be thrown among strange companions, and this very often happens to the burrowing-owl.  Travellers tell us that not only do the prairie-dogs and owls live together in these burrows, but that great rattlesnakes sometimes take up their residence therein—­all three families seeming to live together in peace and unity.  I think that it is probable, however, that the little dogs and owls are not at all pleased with the company of the snakes.  A prairie-dog will not eat an owl, and without the dog is very young indeed, an owl will not eat him; but a great snake would just as soon swallow either of them as not, if he happened to be hungry, which fortunately is not often the case, for a good meal lasts a snake a long time.  But the owls and the prairie-dogs have no way of ridding themselves of their unwelcome roommates, and, like human beings, they are obliged to patiently endure the ills they cannot banish.  Perhaps, like human beings again, they become so accustomed to these ills that they forget how disagreeable they are.

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There is a bird—­and it is a Flamingo—­which builds a nest which looks to me as if it must be very unpleasant to sit upon.  And yet it suits the bird very well.  In fact, on any other kind of a nest, the flamingo might not know what to do with its legs.

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It would appear as if there had been a waste of material in making such a large high nest, when only two or three moderate-sized eggs are placed in the slight depression at the top; but, when we consider that the flamingo uses this tall affair as a seat, as well as a nest, we can easily understand that flamingoes, like most other birds, understand how to adapt their nests to their own convenience and peculiarities.  Sitting astraddle on one of these tall nests, which look something like peach-baskets turned upside down, with her head stuck as far under her wing as she can get it, the flamingo dozes away, during the long sultry hours of day, as comfortably and happily as if she was a little wren snugly curled up inside of its cosey nest.  It is not mere situation which makes us happy.  Some people enjoy life in cottages, others in palaces, and some birds sit in a pile of hard sticks and think themselves quite as cosey as those which repose upon the softest down.

It is almost impossible to comprehend the different fancies of birds in regard to their nests.  For instance, why should any bird want to sail about in its nest?  Yet there is one—­called the Little Grebe—­which builds a water-tight nest, in which she lays her eggs, and, while she is hatching them, she paddles herself around on the water.