After slight intimacies with various robins who were visitors to the
conservatory and found their way in and out at the open windows, I was
led to special friendship with a brown-coated young bird I used often to
see close to the open French window where I was sitting. He was coaxed
into the room by mealworms being thrown to him until he made himself
quite at home indoors. By the time he had attained his red breast the
weather had become too cold for open windows, but Bobbie would sit on
the ledge and wait till I let him in, and then he would be my happy
little companion for the whole morning, flitting all about the room,
along the corridor, into the hall--in fact, he was to be found all over
the house; but when hungry he returned to me as his best friend, because
I was the provider of his delightsome mealworms. It was always amusing
to visitors to see me feed my small fowl! He would be on the alert to
see where his prey was to be found, and he would hunt for it
perseveringly if it happened to fall out of sight. He was often to be
seen perched on the Californian mouse's cage, and I wondered what could
be the attraction; at last I discovered that he coveted mousie's brown
biscuits, and after that he was allowed one for his own use, kept in a
special corner, where a cup of water was also provided for his small
requirements.
However tame wild birds may seem there will be times when all at once a
sort of intense longing to get out seems to possess them. When this was
the case Bobbie would fly backwards and forwards uttering his plaintive
cry (one of the six kinds of notes by which robins express their
feelings), and his distress was so evident that the window was always
opened at once to let him go out.
I am sorry to have to confess that robins are most vindictive towards
each other! Bobbie maintained a very angry warfare with a hated rival
out-of-doors, in fact his chief occupation in life seemed to be watching
for his enemy. He might often be seen sitting under a small palm in a
pot on the window-ledge, and whilst looking the picture of gentle
innocence he was, I fear, cherishing envy, hatred, and malice in his
naughty little heart, for, all at once, there would be a grand
fluttering and pecking at the window whilst the two little furies, one
inside and the other out, expended their strength in harmless warfare
which only ceased when they were too exhausted to do more, and then
followed on both sides a triumphant song of defiance or victory.
I must now weave into this biography the life-history of a poor robin
which, I suppose, must have been caught in a trap, for it had lost the
lower mandible of its beak, and had only a little knob remaining of the
upper mandible. It haunted the windows, and looked so hungry and
miserable from its inability to pick up its food, that I thought it
kindest to coax it into a cage where it could be fed with suitable food.
By placing mealworms in a cage I at last induced it to hop in, and for
five months it had a very happy life indoors, feeding on soaked brown
bread and all the insect diet I could secure for it. When the cage was
cleaned each morning Bobbie was let out, and would take a bath in a
glass dish, and then fly to the top of the looking-glass, where he would
often remain all day unless we were quick enough to secure his cage-door
when he went in to feed. By the middle of May I thought caterpillars
would be plentiful enough for him to find his own living, so one day he
was released, but unhappily Robert the Second was close by, and the
moment he saw the invalid in his cage on the lawn with the door open, he
rushed in and savagely fought the poor defenceless bird. Before we could
interfere he drove our pet out of his cage, and terrible was the battle
that went on; the beakless bird was driven far away, and I was quite
unhappy about his fate, for he was now beyond my loving care, and I
never expected to see him again. Two months passed by, and I only once
caught a glimpse of the invalid, but at last he came just as before to
the window, looking thin and ill, with ruffled feathers, and evidently
again at starvation point. Once more he entered his cage and began his
old life, only now he was hung under the veranda so as to enjoy fresh
air and the songs of his companions. For two months I endeavoured to
keep the dear little creature happy; we were all so fond of him, and it
seems very touching to think that in his times of extremity he should
have come willingly into captivity and felt sure that a kind welcome
would be accorded him. But no amount of care could bring him through the
moulting season, the lack of a beak to plume his feathers and his great
difficulty in picking up even the mealworms made him weak and sickly. He
got out of his cage one day into the garden, and a few days after we
found his poor little body lying dead close to the window where he had
always found the help he needed, and yet we could not but be glad that
his sorrowful little life was ended.
When robins have been thus tamed for years the families they rear are
like pet birds; they are fed by their parents close to the windows, and
then come indoors, as if they knew they would be welcome everywhere.
There is one feature in the robin's character that, as far as I know, is
shared by no other bird; I mean his adopting a certain spot as his
district and always keeping to it, just as the stickle-backs portion out
a pond and jealously defend the territory they have chosen. Here, there
is a special robin to be found at each of the lodges; one haunts the
Mission Hall and will often sing vigorously from the reading-stand while
classes are going on. A very tame one lives in the coachman's house,
running about the floor like a little brown mouse, and sitting inside
the fender on cold days to warm himself. He must have met with trouble
in his early youth, for when first seen he was very lame, and had lost
the sight of one eye. Through kind care he has become well and strong,
but he is much at the mercy of his enemies, who often attack him on his
blind side. The conservatory, dining-room, and drawing-rooms have each
their little redbreast visitor; the latter is so tame he will take
meal-worms from my hand, and sits on my inkstand singing a sweet, low
song whilst I write. As long as each bird keeps to his domain there is
peace, but woe to any intruder! The conflicts are desperate, and I have
often to mediate, and separate two little furies rolling over and over
on the ground. I suppose it is in this way that the idea has arisen
about the young robins killing the old ones; I cannot ascertain that it
has any foundation--in fact, every robin fights his neighbour all the
year through, except when paired and busy with domestic duties. As dead
redbreasts are not found specially in autumn, I do not think there can
be any truth in the superstition.
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