CHAPTER XXILITTLE PETERS
Soon after starting my aviary I bought a pair of large green parrakeets, and consequently became interested in the whole parrot tribe. I found that there are two hundred varieties or more of the little tropical beauties called parrakeets or little Peters.
This first pair of mine I think, consisted of specimens of the all-green parrakeet or the tirika—a species inhabiting eastern Brazil. In that country these pretty green birds associate in countless flocks, disporting themselves in the forest or swooping down on maize and rice fields.
The lady in Halifax from whom I bought these, said that she found it impossible to keep them in a cage. They would break out and invariably amuse themselves by gnawing the plaster from the wallsof the room they were in. At first they did not like me. Parrots, we all know, are narrow in their affections, and rarely like more than one person at a time. They threw me suspicious glances and absolutely refused to be separated from each other. If one flew across the aviary the other uttered a piercing scream, then flew after him.
I took great interest in watching them. They seemed to have quite an amount of individuality, and to be very unlike other birds, both in appearance and in habits. Their hooked beaks, curious claws, awkward gait, their gorgeous plumage, and their queer ways, set them in a class by themselves. They never mingled with birds outside their family. They were my exclusive set.
Parrakeets are not recommended for aviaries on account of their wicked beaks that can so easily break the legs of small birds. This first pair did not trouble me by meddling with other birds, nor did subsequent pairs that I obtained. They always ignored the other inhabitants of the aviary. My parrakeets and doves were all very much wrapped up in themselves, and rarely meddled with their companions, unless they transgressed bird etiquette by pressing close to them.
Most unfortunately, one of these tirikas was found dead a few months after I obtained them. There was a mystery surrounding his death, and I think it must have been the result of an accident. I was so sorry for the lonely survivor, that I took him upto my own room, where he soon became so tame and so lazy that he would not feed himself, but called to me to put favorite morsels in his beak. Rowdy I called this one, and after I had him a little longer I bought a pair of the best known of all the little peters—undulated grass, or shell parrakeets. These Australians were beautiful grass-green and yellow birds, about as large as canaries, but with very long tails. They are often called love-birds, but they are not true love-birds. Genuine love-birds are natives of Africa, and have short tails.
The Australians naturally first came from Australia where immense flocks of them used to be captured while feeding on the seeds of tall grasses. From Australia to Europe was a long journey for them, and after a time bird-keepers found that they could easily raise these pretty creatures in aviaries. In a wild state they make nests in the holes of old trees, or in almost any cavity. In aviaries, if the husk of a cocoanut is given to them, or a hollow bit of wood, they will lay from four to seven white eggs, and soon hatch young ones.
They are lovable and affectionate, and while the female is on the nest her mate sits on a twig near-by and sings his best song, or rather he warbles to her, for they do not sing as other birds do, but make a chuckling, amusing little noise that sounds like talking.
I heard of this devotion of shell parrakeets, but my pair did not act in this way. They kept togethera part of the time, but I felt convinced that if separated they would not die of grief. I soon made up my mind that they were two male birds, and this decision was confirmed by their actions when I one day had brought to me a pair of Madagascar love-birds. Now I saw my Australians in their true character. Their names were Big Eyes and Little Eyes, and as soon as Little Eyes saw Mrs. Madagascar he flew excitedly to meet her, followed her from tree to tree, and warbled and gabbled until he brought on a most ludicrous situation of affairs.
All summer we were treated to exhibitions of infatuation, impatience, jealousy, and resentment. Little Eyes was, of course, the infatuated one, Mrs. Madagascar was impatience personified, her mate was jealousy, and the neglected Big Eyes was resentment itself.
The little green Madagascars would sit pressed close to each other, parrakeet fashion, and Little Eyes taking care to get always, on the right side would slip up close to Mrs. Madagascar and warble soft invitations in her ear to leave her mate and come and play with him.
At first she would pretend not to hear, then she would get impatient and would gurgle an impatient aside to her mate, “What a rude bird—what does he want?”
At this Mr. Madagascar would wake up, lean over, and give Little Eyes a dab.
He did not care; sliding off for a minute healways returned. I often pointed out the comical sight to visitors to my aviary—the two Madagascars sitting, trying to sleep away the lovely warm days, Little Eyes in close attendance, whispering and warbling in the tiny green ear next him, and Big Eyes always in the background, grumbling angrily to himself that no one wanted him.
After I had had the Madagascars for some time they became troubled with overgrown beaks, and one morning I caught them and trimmed the beaks with a penknife. The Australians were nearly frantic to see that I had deprived them of their playmates, and flew about the veranda, chattering and screaming excitedly.
When I showed them the cage containing the Madagascars, they flew right up to it, and Little Eyes, whose love for Mrs. Madagascar had been made fonder by absence, shrieked something that sounded like, “Where have you been? speak! speak!”
The Madagascars, who had been apathetic and frightened while having their beaks trimmed, roused themselves at this warm greeting from their playmate, and one of them squeezed through the bars of the cage. I let the other out, and then there was a jubilation—calls and screams of delight, and a wild dashing to and fro.
Poor Mr. Madagascar soon died. The autumn came, and I think I let them stay out too late, and I also think that the overgrown beak had been lefttoo long. He had not been able to crack a sufficient supply of seeds. I had always a hard time to get my birds indoors in the autumn. They wanted to stay outside, and I have seen a canary sitting on eggs with snowflakes flying around her.
Now that the male Madagascar was gone, Little Eyes’ opportunity had come; he kept close to the bewildered widow, warbling, “I amhere,I am here—speak quick, speak quick!”
She did speak quick, and the little fellow never deserted her, and was inconsolable when she left him.
Her departure was taken in a most peculiar and tragic way. I had her with Little Eyes and Big Eyes on my farm. I noticed one day that Mrs. Madagascar was gnawing a hole in the plaster, and some one in the family suggested that possibly it would be as well not to allow her to destroy the wall.
“She wants to make a nest,” I said. “She will only pierce a small hole.”
I knew she did not need the plaster, for I was always careful to have lime, crushed shells, grit, and sea-sand for my birds.
After a good-sized hole had been made, Mrs. Madagascar only appeared at intervals. I was most pleased at the thought of raising young parrakeets, but one day when confined to my room, I was made slightly uneasy by hearing a scratching in the wall of the bird-room under me.
A few days later I made an investigation, and Mrs. Madagascar was missing—I never saw her again. A Japanese robin was also missing. He was a nervous, fussy fellow, not allowed to associate with the other robins from his country. He had probably seen the hole in the wall, had gone in and investigated, and had lost his way and perished. His would be the noise I heard. Mrs. Madagascar was a quiet bird. She must have died some time before; she had probably lost her way while fussing about her nest, taken a wrong turn, and had gotten bewildered in the partition.
I felt terribly. There was no sound in the wall now, and it was too late to do anything but reluctantly to fasten up the hole so that no other bird could get in. If we had torn down the plaster we might not have found the little bird bodies, for in their bewilderment they might have groped blindly far from the small entrance. If I had only had some of the family make an examination of the wall when I first heard the noise—if I had only been a little more uneasy. It seemed a horrible way for my pretty birds to die. At last I stopped worrying. It would do no good. The birds were gone. But I must be more careful in the future. Little Eyes did not live long after the disappearance of the bird he loved so well, and Big Eyes soon followed him to the bird world, where I hope little birds and big birds have none of the worries and sufferings they experience here.
I was more fortunate with my next parrakeets that are well and happy at this present time. The first one arrived one cold November afternoon. A lad brought him to me in a box, and said a young man in the north end of the city had sent it to me. Would I please cure it? It was very sick. I opened a box and found a brilliant green African love-bird with a bright red face. Its body was cold, its head and neck were flabby, its claws were curled tightly, its heart was beating very feebly, and it was evidently dying.
I seated myself by the fire, and called for my sister, who was almost as much interested in my birds as I was. In a trice she had a cup of hot water at my elbow, and I dropped a little in the bird’s beak. Then she got a hot water bag and I laid the bird on it, face downward, keeping its back to the fire, then I uncurled the little claws that were clenched, for they kept the body from the contact of the bag. At this, the bird showed his first signs of animation, and opening his eyes he feebly tried to bite me. Very much pleased at this sign of life I gave him some warm sweet oil, and after a time a few drops of milk.
His heart action had improved, and soon he straightened himself out and perched on my finger. I then took him up to Sukey’s room, thinking that the voices of the few birds I had there might rouse him. They did, and leaving my hand he climbed on a tree, but instead of seeking food he put his headunder his wing. I knew this would not do, so I brought him down by the fire again, and offered him a dish of seeds—flax, domestic and French millet, canary, and hemp.
He tried to eat but he was too weak. The seeds fell out of his beak. I offered him apple, and he tried to scrape off some of that, but could not. I masticated some, and he began weakly to nibble at it. When he finished, I again put the seeds before him. He chose the millet; I suppose he liked the soft shell and oily taste. He ate slowly but steadily, but he was still so weak that he would only open his eyes to pick up a seed, and would close them as he ate it.
I still sat by the fire, as he liked the heat, and held him on my finger. To my delight he so far improved that he at last seized a good-sized piece of apple and ate it. I put him in a cage at last, as I got quite stiff from sitting so long in one position, and the love-bird was far enough on the road to recovery to be able to climb unsteadily to a perch, where he sat meditatively, and at last opened his eyes and began to make his toilet for the night.
A bird that is too weak to clean his beak is a pretty sick bird. Red-face now began to pay a little attention to his dirty one, and stroked it gently against the bars of the cage to clean it. Then he began to play with his feathers and cunning little claws.
“He will live,” I said triumphantly, and I watchedhim as he ate at intervals till ten o’clock in the evening. Then I put his cage on the hot water pipes in my study. I had some canaries in there, and seeing them, he spread his wings and started warbling. He looked such an exquisite little creature that, as soon as he was tucked away for the night, I went to my natural history to find out something more about him. This red-headed love-bird seems to be the best known of the parrakeet tribe after the Australian or grass parrakeets, such as Big Eyes and Little Eyes. I learned that they, when excited, spread out their short green tails, tipped by spots of orange and black. Subsequently I saw my own birds doing this—opening and shutting their short tails just like brilliant fans.
They are only six inches long and inhabit forests in the central parts of Africa. There they fly in large flocks, and often sit closely together in long rows, where their gorgeous little green bodies and red faces must produce a very striking appearance. They are said to be the most hardy of the parrakeet family and will stand a good degree of cold weather. They are no bathers, but they take great pride in arranging their feathers, and in pluming and in stroking one another.
Later on, I noticed that this parrakeet did occasionally step into the water and make a pretense of bathing, but what he liked better was to stand near some bird that was taking a vigorous bath and catch the drops as they flew out of the basin. In suchcases he would get quite excited and would dip backward and forward as if he too were really in the water.
I was very much afraid that my little Red-face would die, and the next morning hurried downstairs so early that I had to strike a match to see whether he was dead or alive. When he heard me he took his rosy head from under his wing and fell to eating. He got on so well during the day that toward night I took him up to Sukey’s room so that he might have the little birds there to cheer him up.
At the sight of these little birds and Sukey he became so excited that I had to bring him back to the few canaries and the quiet of my study. A sick bird is like a sick person—quiet and warmth are necessary for a perfect recovery.
As the days went by he kept on improving, and I learned his history. Some of the Canadian soldiers who went to South Africa to take part in the war against the Boers had brought back this little captive, and had given him to the young man who sent him to me. Who owned him in Africa or how old he was, I could not find out. His owner said that he was inclined to be a delicate bird, and as he had not time to fuss with him I might keep him if I wished. I was most pleased to have him, and found him a great ornament in my aviary. Contrary to the popular opinion that one love-bird will not live alone, Red-face kept in the best of health and spirits, and as there were now no other parrakeetsin my aviary, he chose a red-headed Brazil cardinal for a friend. The cardinal hated him, and beat him if he went too near, so Red-face calmly gave him up and spent his days flying about the aviary and warbling happily to himself.
I was so sorry for what I considered his state of loneliness that one day, seeing a rosy-faced love-bird in town, I bought him and brought him home. In order that the two might become acquainted I put them in a cage. They got on pretty well together, but when I took them out Red-face beat the stranger.
In order to illustrate the vagaries of birds, I may say that the Brazil cardinal that hated Red-face and drove him away, allowed the stranger that looked exactly like him to sit near his nest. There is nothing but human nature that at all resembles the doubled and twisted workings of bird nature.
Red-face and the stranger were separated this autumn. When I left home I thought that my pretty Africans would be better off in a large American aviary under the care of a skilled curator, so I attempted to catch them both. The stranger hid and is still at home. I only got Red-face. He is in New York State, and his fate is unsettled, for in the aviary to which I sent him, the gray-headed love-birds object so to his presence that it was feared he would be killed. So he is still seeking a home, and it is possible that he may once more find himself back in Canada with his former bird companions.