RATS—MICE—FROGS—TOADS—FLEAS, ETC.
Rats generally are not favorites. There seems to be born in the human
race a natural antipathy to these animals, and the preference with most
persons would be rather to exterminate them than to attempt to tame
them. Still rats _may_ be tamed, though it must be confessed they are
rather unattractive subjects, their odor being disgusting and their bite
poisonous, probably from particles of putrid flesh adhering to their
teeth—in many recorded cases fatally so.
Probably most readers have heard the story of the Frenchman, we forget
his name, who was doomed to expiate some political offense in a dungeon
cell; and how, to relieve the dreary loneliness and torturing monotony
of his solitary existence, he strove to win the confidence of a rat
which stole timidly forth from some crevice to pick up the crumbs
dropped by the prisoner from his frugal meals. By slow degrees he
labored to achieve his purpose, dropping a few crumbs on the floor and
waiting motionless till the animal had come from his retreat and taken
them; then, as the rat’s timidity gave way under the influence of this
kindness, the man enticed him to eat from his hand, to climb up his leg
into his lap, and by-and-by to permit himself to be handled, until at
last the rat would nestle in the man’s bosom, come at his call, and in
many ways display his affections for his master.
Mice are less ferocious than rats, more easily managed, and also make
better performers, if it is desired to teach them tricks. The process of
training is the same with both. In securing your captive, a trap which
does it no injury should be used. To say nothing of the cruelty, an
animal that is partially disabled or suffering pain, is not in a
condition to learn well. The best traps are those in which wires are so
arranged as to permit an easy entrance while they present an array of
sharp points to prevent an exit.
The first thing after the capture is to tie a piece of fine but strong
twine to the captive’s tail. This may be done without removing from the
trap, or a wire or tin cage; he should be kept until so far tamed that
he will not attempt to gnaw the string and escape when taken from his
prison. During this time he should be well treated, supplied with food
and water, and in no way irritated or alarmed. At the end of a day or so
he may be allowed to come out upon a table, while the string which
retains him is held securely. He will, probably, run around to examine
the locality and then make an attempt to escape. At this point he must
be gently but firmly drawn back, and we would advise that the first
lesson consist merely in teaching him the uselessness of these attempts.
At the next lesson a light wand, of willow or other wood, about twenty
inches long, should be provided. Shortening the confining string so as
to have your animal “well in hand,” you make him travel back and forth
across the table in a straight line several times, guiding him by
placing your wand in his way whenever he swerves from the correct
course. Then make him go in a circle, then along a piece of board, or
books laid on an edge, and any other convenient exercises to habituate
him to follow your guidance. Remember, in doing this, that your object
is to teach him—not to torment him. This wand is the real key to the
performances of rats and mice. Though, these animals, doubtless, possess
considerable sagacity, nearly all the tricks we have ever seen them
perform have been mere obedience to the guidance of the exhibitor; so
that when your pupil will go in the desired direction at the slightest
hint with your wand, the main part of his training is accomplished, and
you have only to arrange various little tricks in which the obedience
will come in play.
By placing an obstacle in his way of such a shape as he cannot readily
climb over, and urging him forward, he may be taught to leap; soon
little hoops of wire or wood may be held for him to jump through, and
these may be raised gradually with successive lessons until he will
spring a considerable distance into the air to go through them. During
all the time of training it should be your object to tame your pupil and
inspire him with confidence in you; this will enable you eventually to
remove the string which secures him, and so add to the credit of your
exhibition. He should also be accustomed to take food from your hand or
from the point of a bit of stick. This will serve as the foundation of
many amusing tricks. Thus a small piece of cheese may be placed on the
end of a string or wire so arranged that the removal of the cheese will
cause a little bell to ring or produce some other pleasing effect. After
the first few lessons with this arrangement, in which the mouse will
have become accustomed to securing his food in this way, the cheese may
be simply _rubbed_ on sufficiently to induce him to bite at it. He
should at first be guided up to it with the wand and tapped gently under
his chin to induce him to rise and seize it. A variation of this is the
trick of carrying articles in his mouth. First give him some article
thoroughly smeared with cheese; the desire to secure the cheese will
make him take it; then by urging and guiding him with your wand you can
make him carry it about; being loth to relinquish the cheese, he will
retain the whole. The amount of this bait used may be gradually
diminished. By-and-by he may be made to convey little articles to and
fro between two persons seated at opposite sides of the table. To do
this, as well as for general convenience, it is well to accustom your
pupil to come to you at some particular sound. This may be either the
snapping of the finger nails or some slight noise of the mouth. It is
easily done by making the noise, and, at the same time, pulling him
toward you by the string attached to his tail. When he reaches you
reward him with a morsel of cheese or bread, and repeat from day to day
until he will come upon hearing the call.
Rats or mice may be used as motive powers to operate little models of
machinery. This requires no training, as they are merely placed in a
tread-mill contrivance, and being kept there their weight causes the
works to move and compels the animal to keep up the motion.
[Illustration: RAT AS A MOTIVE POWER.]
A little performance, a la Blondin, may be arranged for your mouse by
stretching a piece of wire sufficiently stout to afford him a firm
foothold, from two posts, about a foot in hight, fastened into a board.
The ends of the wire may be at an angle, and also be secured to the
board. Being guided by your wand up the slanting wire upon the main one,
the dexterity with which he will run about upon it is quite surprising.
If he has been already taught to hold things in his mouth he may be
given a piece of wood, about the thickness of an ordinary friction match
and twice its length, to represent a balancing pole, and this may be
adorned at each end by a balancing flag or bit of ribbon. The _real_
“balancer,” however, is the animal’s tail, which he will wriggle from
side to side to preserve his equilibrium.
In the summer of 1867 one of the most attractive of the outdoor shows
exhibited in Paris was that of “the man of rats,” well known to the
inhabitants of the Quartier Mont Parnasse, where he has held his
headquarters for the last thirty years. The name of this Rarey of the
rat race is Antoine Leonard. If the former succeeded in breaking in the
worst tempered brute ever created, Leonard in three weeks certainly
accomplished the difficult task of cultivating habits of obedience in
the biggest rats that ever ran. His favorite scenes of action are some
cross alleys in the 14th and 15th Arondissement. His sole theater is a
sort of perch which he sticks into the ground, and then he takes his
corps de ballet out of his pocket. At his word of command the rats run
up and down the perch, hang on three legs, then on two, stand on their
heads, and in fact go through a series of gymnastic exercises that would
put Blondin himself to the blush. His crack actor is a gray rat that he
has had in his troupe for eleven years. This old fellow not only obeys
Leonard, but is personally attached to him. It is a most curious sight
to see Leonard put him on the ground, and then walk away. The creature
runs after him, and invariably catches him however many turns he may
make to avoid him. An Englishman offered fifty francs for him about two
years ago, but Leonard would not separate from his old and attached
friend.
Some time ago, in passing through Beekman street, in this city, our
attention was attracted by quite a large crowd gazing intensely at the
telegraph wires which pass through the street. Following the example of
the rest, we at last discerned, high up on the topmost wire, a mouse,
that was running along evidently in search of some safe descent from his
novel position. It seems that some boy had caught him, and the fact that
the wires in that vicinity pass close to the windows of the buildings,
had, doubtless, suggested the idea of placing him thereon. Whether the
mouse would have persevered and traveled on to Albany, thus furnishing
an example of sending articles by telegraph, it is impossible to say,
for some person at a window within reach of the wire, by vigorous
shaking, succeeded in dislodging him, and he fell to the ground among a
crowd of boys who were eagerly waiting to receive him. In the scramble
that followed he was captured, and borne off in triumph by a newsboy.
A shrewd dodge is related by a New York paper of a certain saloon
keeper, who has been greatly annoyed by persons who sit about in chairs
to sleep off the effects of bad whiskey. He has caught and tamed several
rats, and trained them to run across the floor. A sitter wakes up and
sees the rats running, and calls attention to the fact, when he is told
there are no rats there. This frightens the man, who thinks he has got
the tremens, and he quickly disappears from the saloon.
Frogs are made pets of in some countries. In Vienna may be seen gilt
cages containing small frogs of a pretty green color, which are kept in
drawing rooms, and amuse by their gambols. Curious stories are told of
the domestication of the tree-frog, which is a native of warm countries.
It is said of Dr. Townson, that he had two pet frogs of this variety. He
kept them in a window, and appropriated to their use a bowl of water, in
which they lived. They grew quite tame; and to two which he had in his
possession for a considerable time, and were particular favorites, the
doctor gave the names of Damon and Musidora. In the evening they seldom
failed to go into the water, unless the weather was cold and damp; in
which case they would sometimes abstain from entering it for a couple of
days. When they came out of the water, if a few drops were thrown upon
the board, they always applied their bodies as close to it as they
could; and from this absorption through the skin, though they were
flaccid before, they soon again appeared plump. A tree-frog, that had
not been in the water during the night, was weighed and then immersed;
after it had remained half an hour in the bowl, it came out, and was
found to have absorbed nearly half its own weight of water. From other
experiments, it was discovered that these animals frequently absorbed
nearly their whole weight of water, and that, as was clearly proved, by
the under surface only of the body. They will even absorb water from
wetted blotting-paper. Sometimes they will eject water with considerable
force from their bodies, to the quantity of a fourth part or more of
their weight. Before the flies had disappeared in the autumn, the doctor
collected for his favorite tree-frog, Musidora, a great quantity as
winter provision. When he laid any of them before her she took no notice
of them, but the moment he moved them with his breath she sprang upon
and ate them. Once, when flies were scarce, the doctor cut some flesh of
a tortoise into small pieces, and moved them by the same means; she
seized them, but the instant afterward rejected them from her tongue.
After he had obtained her confidence she ate from his fingers dead as
well as living flies. Frogs will leap at the moving of any small object;
and, like toads, they will also become sufficiently familiar to sit on
the hand, and submit to be carried from one side of a room to the other,
to catch flies as they settle on the wall. This gentleman, accordingly,
made them his guards for keeping the flies from his dessert of fruit,
and they performed their task highly to his satisfaction.
Another, yet more remarkable frog, is told of by a Virginia gentleman:
“Concerning this frog,” says he, “it has lived many years with us and is
a great favorite, and the greatest curiosity is its becoming so
remarkably tame. It had frequented our door steps before our hall door
some years before my acquaintance commenced with it. My father had
admitted it for years on account of its size and color, and he visited
it every evening, when it would come forth at his summons, and by
constant feeding he brought it to be so tame that it would come to him
and look up as if expecting to be taken up and brought to the table and
fed on insects of all sorts. On presenting living insects it fixes its
eyes intently and remains motionless for a while as if preparing for a
strike, which is an instantaneous throwing of its tongue to a great
distance, upon which the insect sticks fast to the tip by a glutinous
matter. I can’t say how long my father had been acquainted with it; from
my earliest recollection he spoke of it as ‘Old Tom,’ ‘the old frog.’ I
have known it for a great number of years—I can answer for fifty-seven
years. It makes its appearance (always a welcome visitor) with warm
weather and remains with us till fall, appearing morning and evening to
our great amusement, having been trained to do many things, such as
leaping, turning somersaults holding alternately by its feet and hands
to a small rope, swinging and whirling, after the manner of a slack rope
performer, marching erect oh its hind legs, and at the word of command
going through the manual exercise. It seems perfectly good natured, and
never shows temper, but is dreadfully afraid of a cat, on whose approach
it will often leap four feet from the floor, with the utmost precision,
plump into the mouth of a large stone water pitcher, and thus secure a
safe retreat. Yet it is in no wise alarmed or disturbed by the presence
of dogs, of which we have many about the premises. They all seem to
regard it as one of the household and a ‘privileged character.’”
Were not this story apparently well attested we might doubt some of the
details, as our own experience has shown that, while frogs are easily
tamed, and may be taught quite readily to perform such simple feats as
leaping, clinging to a string while swinging, and the like, they yet
seem to possess no aptitude for learning any more elaborate feats. Some
of our readers may, perhaps, be as successful as this gentleman was, and
in that case we should be pleased to have them let us know of it.
It may easily be imagined that the capture and training of fleas would
require a patience almost rivaling Job’s, and a skill which, in its
particular way, might almost be called a triumph of genius. Yet that has
been done, and some years ago a man gave exhibitions of what he termed
“educated fleas,” which were quite popular and successful. This man was
a German, who, at the time we speak of, was somewhat more than sixty
years of age, and had been, with true Teutonic steadfastness, about
twenty years engaged in his strange vocation. Fortunately he was endowed
with a sharp pair of eyes, which not only enabled him to keep track of
his little performers, over three score in number, but also to make the
minute “properties” used in the exhibition.
This “artist in fleas” took considerable pains to secure choice
specimens for his collection, and had arrangements whereby they were
forwarded to him by mail, carefully packed in cotton, from localities
noted for their superior breeds. When not in use the fleas are packed
away in pill-boxes between layers of cotton. They are fed twice each
day; the manner of feeding being to allow each to suck one drop of blood
from the trainer’s bare arm. This would be an ordeal few of our readers
would probably care to submit to, but the hero of the sixty fleas had
become so accustomed to it that he didn’t mind it in the least, and, for
aught we know, rather enjoyed it.
The intelligence of fleas is not of a very high order, and their
“education” is really very limited; the seeming marvels they perform
being mainly clever management on the part of their exhibitor. When
first received they are secured with a halter of the finest imaginable
silk to prevent escape. The first thing they are taught is _not_ to
jump. For this purpose the end of the halter is secured to a pin in the
table, and each jump naturally results in the prisoner being upset with
a sudden jerk, with, no doubt, a rather unpleasant sensation about the
neck. Sometimes a sharp pressure upon certain muscles is resorted to for
checking this jumping propensity. Being well fed and well treated, when
it behaves itself, even a flea will become tame. Punishment, too, for
rebellious conduct is also practiced. As fleas are not well adapted for
being flogged a new device is resorted to, a piece of burning charcoal,
or heated wire, is held over them until they are subdued.
The usual performances consist in little coaches being drawn about by
fleas harnessed up, while others of the troupe personate riders,
coachmen and footmen. Then there is the ball-room scene, where fleas
waltz around to the imaginary music of an orchestra of fleas, furnished
with minute imitations of various instruments. There are also quite a
variety of other tricks, but they are all pretty much the same in
principle. The main secret in these performances is a piece of very thin
wire, some ten or so inches in length, which the exhibitor holds in his
hand during the entertainment. The end of this wire is greased with
butter, which appears to possess a strong influence upon the fleas, for
they will eagerly follow the wire in whatever direction it is moved. The
audience, ignorant of this fact, attach no importance to the exhibitor’s
directing with it the movement of his performers, and may even consider
their following it a proof of superior training. By this means the fleas
may easily be made to go through the desired movements.
Where the fleas occupy a stationary position a trick is resorted to
which if on a large scale would be clumsy, but which in this instance
defies the sharpest eyes to detect. The insects are fastened in their
positions. Aided by the costumes with which they are encumbered, this is
not difficult to accomplish. Natural movements are also made to pass for
seemingly wonderful effects. Thus the performance of the musicians is
nothing but the customary wriggling of the fleas. Any insect in a
confined position will seize hold of a light article whether it be
shaped like a fiddle or not, and twirl it about. With the fleas it is
impossible for the spectator to distinguish exactly what the motion
is—it is so rapid and everything is so small—and imagination makes up
for a good many deficiencies.
We have seen boys amusing themselves impaling a fly, belly upward, upon
the point of a pin, the head of which was inserted in a cork standard,
and giving him a little dumb-bell composed of pieces of cork connected
by a piece of hog’s bristle. The fly would grasp this in his agony, and
his convulsive movements would have a very exact resemblance to a
dumb-bell performance, and be irresistibly ludicrous, however much one
might sympathise with the victim’s suffering. It almost rivaled the
professor and his fleas.
Once upon a time this troupe of fleas were exhibited at Berlin before
the king and queen. The professor was suddenly seen to exhibit signs of
great consternation. “What is the matter, Herr Professor?” inquired his
majesty, on seeing that the performance had come to a stand still.
“Sire, I perceive that one of my very, best performers, the great
Napoleon, has got loose and disappeared.” “Let search be made at once
for the great Napoleon,” replied the king, good humoredly. “Ladies and
gentlemen, let the Herr Professor have your best help in recapturing the
great Napoleon. In what direction, Herr Professor, do you imagine the
runaway to have gone?” “If I may venture, sire, to reply frankly,”
returned that personage, “I suspect the great Napoleon to have secreted
himself about the person of her serene highness, the Princess F——.” The
“highness” thus named, feeling anything but “serene” at the thought of
affording quarters to such an intruder, made a hasty retirement to her
own apartments, whence, after a brief retirement with her cameriste, she
smilingly returned to the royal presence, bringing some object held
delicately between her thumb and finger, which she cautiously made over
to the professor. “Alas! sire,” exclaimed the latter, after a moment’s
glance at what he thought was his discovered treasure, “this is a wild
flea and not the great Napoleon!” And the exhibition was brought to an
ignominious conclusion.
We once heard of a performance somewhat akin to our professor’s. At a
certain boarding school that we attended years ago, we noticed our
room-mate one morning examining the bed in a manner to indicate beyond
doubt that he was in search of an insect which is not usually a subject
of conversation in polite society. Fortunately for the credit of the
school he found none. In answer to our expression of surprise at his
evident disappointment at there being none, he explained that he wanted
to show us a splendid trick he had invented at home; and he went on to
describe how he had often amused himself by gluing one end of a string
to the back of an unfortunate bug, while to the other end was hitched a
miniature model of a cart, made of paper. This, he said, was capital
sport, especially when he made two of these teams race, and pricked the
steeds with a needle to make them lively. This is the only example of
bed-bug training we are able to record.
A very useful thing for farmers is the power of handling bees without
liability to be stung. Many persons imagine this to be some gift or
mysterious influence possessed by the successful operator, while others
suppose it to be derived from some wonderful secret possessed by him.
Though this “secret” is really quite a simple matter, the fact that a
speculator has been selling it to bee keepers at the modest price of ten
dollars, shows that it is an interesting subject, and we propose to give
it to the reader without exacting any fee.
Let us suppose you have a particularly irritable colony in one of the
modern hives, from which you desire to obtain the honey. The treatment
must vary a trifle according to the particular design and arrangement of
the hive, but the following directions, with very slight modifications,
will answer for all. First confine the bees in the hive, and rap on the
side of it with the palms of your hands or a small stick. The first
efforts of the bees will be to escape from the hive; finding this
impossible they will rush to their stores and fill themselves with
honey. Should the rapping prove insufficient to frighten them and cause
them to fill themselves with honey, smoke from rotten wood, which is the
best, cotton rags, or tobacco, may be made to enter the hive which will
have the desired effect. Bees will never sting of their own accord when
gorged with food, and in this condition may be handled with impunity.
When swarming, or out of the hive for any reason, they may be “tamed” by
placing water well sweetened with sugar within their reach. Bees can
never resist the temptation and after they have gorged themselves with
this preparation they are as harmless as when their sacks are filled
with honey.