We have never looked with perfect complacency on the keeping of birds
in cages; for it looks very much like an unnatural imprisonment. They
have not space to fly about, and there is something painful in seeing
them flitting up and down on two or three spars within very narrow
bounds, or looking through the wires of their cage as if wishful to get
out. It would, however, be of no use to remonstrate against a practice
that is common not only over all England but over the whole civilised
world. Besides, the keepers of pet birds are not without arguments in
their favour. Most of the birds to be seen in cages, such as canaries,
goldfinches, or siskins, have been bred in confinement. They never knew
what it was to be at liberty, and in their helpless inexperience, if
let loose, they would inevitably perish. There is much truth in this
species of excuse for bird-keeping. Some weight is also to be attached
to the plea that the little creatures are, generally speaking, so happy
in their captivity that many of them live to an old age—say twelve
or thirteen years, and keep on piping their ‘wood-notes wild’ to the
last. There may be the further apology, that the maintenance of birds
in cages communicates happiness to invalids, or to persons who do not
go much from home. There is cheerfulness in their song, and a degree
of amusement in witnessing their movements, as well as in attending
to their simple wants. Altogether, therefore, there is a good deal to
say for bird-keeping. It is not quite so inhumane a practice as it at
first appears. In short, birds, like dogs, may be viewed in the light
of domestic solacements kindly sent by Providence. Their society and
grateful attachment help to fill up many a melancholy gap.
These ideas have been suggested to us by an accidental interview with
a Dealer in Birds, who in his own way was apt in the philosophy of the
subject. If people would have birds, it was his business to supply
them with what they wanted, and he did so with as great tenderness
of feeling as the fragile nature of the article dealt in demanded. He
had much to explain respecting the importation of song-birds, and the
breeding of them in cages. But on neither of these points shall we say
anything. What especially interested us were this intelligent dealer’s
observations on the proper method of keeping birds. Some folks, he
said, have a notion that all you have to do is to buy a bird, put it
into a cage, and give it food and water as directed. That is far from
being enough. The habits of the animal must be studied. The climate of
the room in which it lives, the amount of daylight it should enjoy, the
atmosphere it breathes, its freedom from sudden alarms—all have to be
thought of, if you wish the bird to be happy; and without that it has
little chance of being a pleasant companion.
When the dealer began business many years ago, he was very unfortunate
as concerns his stock. He occupied as good a shop as any one in the
trade. The birds arranged all around in their respective cages, ready
for the inspection of customers, were as merry as birds could be. They
sung in full pipe, as if rivalling each other in their gaiety. Provided
with appropriate food, with pure water, and fresh air, they had not a
want unsupplied. Without any apparent reason, they began to droop and
to moult. This did not alone occur at the season when such might be
expected. Their moulting was often fatal. Vexed at cases of mortality
notwithstanding all his care, the dealer bethought himself that the use
of gas in his shop might be injurious, so for gas he substituted an
oil-lamp light. Still they drooped and died. He next in various ways
and at some expense improved the ventilation of his shop. Still they
drooped and died.
What could be the matter? Puzzled to the last extent, the bird-dealer
at length conjectured what might be the cause of these numerous deaths.
Could it be that the birds wore themselves out singing? If so, the only
way to stop them was to shorten the time they were exposed to the
light, for if kept in the dark they are not inclined to sing.
The supposition proved to be correct. He shut up his shop at an
early hour, and from that time the mortality of the birds ceased.
During the day they had just that amount of singing that suited their
constitutions, and in the evening they were left to their repose. This
bird-dealer’s ingenious discovery seems exceedingly rational. In a
state of nature, small birds flit about and sing only during daylight.
They retire to rest at sundown. This procedure requires to be imitated
in keeping birds artificially. If you let them sing all day and several
hours additional by lamp-light, you over-fatigue them. The labour is
too much. Of course the birds do not understand that they had better
be silent when the lamp or candles are lit. They instinctively keep
singing on, as if it were still daylight. The immediate effect of
this over-fatigue is that the poor birds are apt to moult, and become
attenuated; and suffering from premature exhaustion, they speedily
perish.
The dealer mentions that few birds subject to the exhaustion of
singing beyond ordinary daylight survive more than two years. This
does not surprise us. How could any of our public vocalists, male or
female, and of even a robust constitution, endure the tear and wear of
singing under a mental strain for any great length of time, as much as
eighteen hours a day? If human beings would thus sink under the effort
of over-work, we need not wonder that the fragile creatures we are
speaking of should succumb and drop from their perch.
As a means, therefore, of protecting the lives of pet birds, the
recommendation is, to remove the cages to a darkened apartment at
nightfall, or if they are not removed, to cover up every cage with a
dark cloth before lighting the gas or oil-lamps. In shifting birds from
one room to another, it is important to see that there be no change
in the temperature. If removed to a different temperature, there is a
chance of their moulting, which may be preliminary to something more
serious. Let it be always kept in mind that Nature supplies a coat to
suit the heat or cold in which the creatures are placed. By changing
a bird from a warm to a cold climate, birds change their coat and get
one that is heavier, and _vice versâ_, so, by repeated changes they are
kept continually moulting, instead of once a year, as they ought to do.
We have referred principally to the treatment of small song-birds, the
delicacy of which calls for particular attention. But our observations
in the main apply to all birds whatsoever. If it be wrong to keep a
little bird singing beyond its constitutional capacity, so it would be
wrong to over-work a parrot by causing it to speak eighteen hours on a
stretch. It would seem that by this degree of loquacity, the parrot has
a tendency to take some kind of bronchial affection, analogous to the
ailment of preachers, usually known as ‘the minister’s sore throat,’
and which, if not checked in time, may prove equally disastrous.
We have thrown these interesting facts together not only in the
interest of bird-keepers, but for the sake of inculcating kindness to
animals.