The Owl sits by the mouth of the hole till driven away by
your approach, when he follows his confrere's example by diving; the
Rattlesnake stays usually below, to give any prowling, thieving
prairie-wolf, or other carnivorous intruder, the worst of the bargain,
should he attempt to dig out the architect of this subterranean abode.
But for this nice little family arrangement, the last prairie-dog would
long since have been unearthed and eaten. As it is, the rattlesnake gets
a den for nothing, while the prairie-dog sleeps securely under the
guardianship of his poison-tongued confederate. The owl, I presume,
either pays _his_ scot by hunting mice and insects for the general
account, or by keeping watch against all felonious approaches. Even man
does not care to dig out such a nest, and prefers to drown out the
inmates by pouring in pail after pail of water till they have to put in
an appearance above ground. The only defense against this is to
construct a prairie-dog town as far as possible from water, and this is
carefully attended to. I heard on the Plains of one being drowned out by
a sudden and overwhelming flood; but of the hundreds I passed, not one
was located where this seemed possible.
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