SEPTEMBER 8: Nine Years Old
“I’m nine years old to-day,” chirped the canary bird. “That is a pretty good age for a canary bird, too. I believe I am to have a special piece of crisp lettuce and a new piece of cuttle fish bone as birthday presents.
“Then, too, I’ve heard that I am to have a bite of an apple, also. Ah, yes, it is fine to be nine years old.
“My mistress has been saying for some time that when to-day came it would be my ninth birthday.
“How good she is to me. I haven’t been able to see for the past year or so. I found myself seeing things less clearly and less clearly.
“Finally I couldn’t see anything. I can feel my way about my cage of course, and sometimes my mistress takes me out and pets me, and I sit on her finger and she kisses the top of my head.
“Then I give her little love pecks, too—my little bird kind of kisses.
“I have an idea when it is night because my mistress says ‘Hush’ to me several times over and kisses me several times, one time right afteranother for several moments, and then I’m put back on my perch.
“Then I put my head under my wing, which, of course, is the way I sleep. And next I put my head out for a moment and I hear her say: ‘Good, Dicky. That’s right.’
“Yes, I’m nine years old, and I’ve had nine happy years of bird life, so far.”