Something must die for something else to live.
I'd been watching this male Great Horned Owl for a couple of weeks whenever I walked the Big Wash behind our home in Arizona. The Big Wash is a dry riverbed.
We'd focus on each other, which is understandable for me being a wildlife photographer of sorts. But what holds the owl's interest in me?
I should be an inconvenience to him... nothing more.
The expected behavior would be to fly away.
The male guards while the female sits on eggs. He watches the coming and going near the center hole entrance. He is the sole food provider for his mate during cold desert nights.
A serving of packrat was offered this time.
Now there are two extra mouths to feed. It looks, though, like the owlet on the left has been getting fed the most.
A little one, nearly buried between big sibling and mother, must be struggling to get any share of food.
Death is not uncommon among hatchlings when resources are scarce.
But food doesn't seem to be a problem in this case. Here the female finishes the feather, feet and bones of a meal that was likely fed to the strongest and fastest of the two owlets.
(Click any picture to enlarge.)
I returned to the burrow again the next day. Now there's only one owlet.
Fratricide happens when there is a gap in hatchings. The first owlet likely is the strongest. It gets the most food. It follows so on down the pecking order. A pecking order is just that and the smallest takes the brunt of it.
You can't expect justice in nature.
More disturbing yet is when the mother feeds the remaining owlet the body of the departed.
Resist passing judgement on nature. It is what it is and it has been going on for millions of years. It's just life.
One owlet gets to live.
Allan
Credits: Cornell Lab of Ornithology, All About Birds
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