interesting article about a tame humming-bird. I know a number of
people who enjoyed it as much as I, so I feel sure all lovers of pets,
especially of birds, will be interested in my story of "Little Billee."
I have always been passionately fond of animals and would like to make
pets of them all. I have cared the least for birds, (except out of
doors) and have known very little about them.
I have been ill many months, and my family and friends have done all
they could to make the days pass as quickly as possible for me. Early
in June my mother found a little brown bird which could not have been
more than two weeks old. Thinking it might amuse me she brought him
up stairs done up in her handkerchief, and I took him inside the bed.
After an hour he seemed very happy and not at all afraid. I looked him
over carefully, but found him uninjured. I took him to the open window
expecting to see him try to fly away, but he did not seem to have the
slightest intention of doing so. From that day to this he has been
perfectly devoted to me and my constant companion. At this minute he is
sitting on the back of my neck dressing his feathers.
The first day I could not get him to eat anything until night, when he
drank milk from an after-dinner coffee spoon. After that he took little
pieces of bread soaked in milk from my tongue or lip. I fed him in that
way for several days, then he would take it out of my fingers. He lived
on bread and milk for two weeks. Now he eats almost everything that I
do. All kinds of vegetables, mushrooms, and ice cream. He likes to sit
on my hand or shoulder and take them from my fork.
I have some kind of nourishment every two hours and Little Billee knows
very well when my maid comes into my room with a salver that there is
something on it to eat or drink, and he is wild until he gets on my
hand or shoulder. He drinks milk from my tumblers and will not drink
water out of anything but my medicine glass. When Little Billee sees me
sit down in the morning with an orange on a plate, he flies upon his
cage, then over into my lap, and sits on the first finger of my left
hand and eats the orange from my spoon. At first he could not crack his
own seeds and as he was very fond of them I used to do it for him. Now
he can crack them himself, but he prefers eating them outside his cage,
and his hemp seed he always brings over and eats on the rug in front of
my bed.
Little Billee is very fond of little orange blossom biscuits. I keep
some in a tin box under a table by the side of my bed. For several days
every time I would reach out of bed and tap on the box Little Billee
would come running for a piece. One day I was visiting with a friend
and we forgot all about the bird. Soon we heard rap, tap, tap, pop,
pop, pop, and there was Little Billee standing by the box waiting for a
piece. Since then he comes many times a day. If I send him away with a
small piece he returns directly for a large one.
I had quite a time teaching him to stay in his cage. The first day I
put him in I was afraid he would die of fright. I left the cage on the
floor for two days before he ventured in. After he had been going in
and out for some time, I closed the door, but he was frightened quite
as much as at first, and he would not go near the cage the rest of the
day. Finally I tried taking the cage on my lap and shutting him in; he
did not seem afraid then and now he does not mind being shut up in the
morning when I am in my dressing-room, but he much prefers going in
and out at his own sweet will. If I leave him shut up in his cage and
go back to bed, he is frantic until he is let out and gets in the bed
with me. For the first two weeks he was not happy if he was not on me
somewhere. He would stay in bed with me for hours at a time, but now
he plays on the floor, with a little piece of paper, cotton, or ribbon,
and eats his seeds and biscuit.
I dress my hair high and it is Little Billee's special delight to sit
on the top of my twist while I walk about my room. During the first
few weeks if I put him on the floor when he had been in bed with me,
he would hop back and forth on the rug in front of my bed, and beg to
be taken, or he would fly straight up. I would put down my hand, he
would hop upon my finger and in a second be back inside the bed. If I
was sitting in a chair and put him down on the floor, he would climb
right up from my feet to my neck, put his little bill in my mouth and
chirp with glee. One day he was on the floor and did not see me go back
to bed, but saw my wrapper over a chair (which stood about a yard from
my bed). He supposed I was inside of it, but when he reached the top
and found no mouth to put his bill into, he gave several very mournful
peeps, but as soon as I spoke to him he chirped and it did not take him
long to fly over to me. The next day when I put him down on the floor
I was anxious to see what he would do. After teasing for some time for
me to take him, he went to a chair, climbed up on the wrapper until he
reached the top, then flew over to me. Ever after he came that way when
I refused to take him.
One day I left Little Billee on the rug in front of the bed and went
into my dressing room. While I was gone my mother came in and sat down.
He was much frightened. Every time she spoke to him he ran under the
bed, stuck his little head out from under the valance and peeped for
me to come to him. When I spoke he answered, but was too much afraid
to pass mother to come to me. When I came out he ran quickly to me and
flew onto the back of a very low chair. I bent down and he flew up
on my shoulder, chirping as loud as he could. No little child could
have shown more joy in getting back to its mother. I do not suppose he
remembers any other mother, and thinks all little birds have just such
good mothers as I.
I have a magnificent big tiger cat named Taffy, so I thought Little
Billee would be a very good name for my wee bird. It seems a very
appropriate name too, as he spends a great deal of his time dressing
himself and manicuring his nails. When he struts about with his head
held high you can plainly see the long coat, high collar, high hat, and
umbrella and can easily imagine the original Little Billee is before
you. But I fear Taffy and my Little Billee will never go walking arm
and arm together. Taffy has already caught Little Billee twice, but I
have rescued him from the jaws of death before any harm was done. I am
trying my best to get them to live contentedly together. I do not allow
Little Billee to go out into the hall for fear he will fly down stairs
and be caught by Taffy before anyone can reach him. Before the door
into the hall is a small rug and he thinks flying over that a great
feat, but when I say, "Little Billee, come right home," he returns
instantly.
He goes to bed at eight o'clock in a little basket which I put on the
top of some hanging shelves so there will be no danger from Taffy in
the dark. Taffy sleeps on my bed every night, and very often on the
outside when Little Billee is inside, and it seems like the lion and
the lamb lying down together. Little Billee will usually be contented
in his basket until 7 o'clock in the morning, then I take him into the
bed with me where he lies quietly on my arm, neck, or palm until I get
up at 9 o'clock. He never makes a peep unless I speak to him, then he
chirps away like a happy child. On fine evenings I sat before an open
window from 7 o'clock until 8 with Little Billee on my finger listening
to the birds. When he became sleepy he tucked his little head under his
wing, in a few minutes crawled into the palm of my hand and went sound
asleep, ready for his basket.
When the hot wave came I went down-stairs at 7 o'clock, shutting him up
in his cage.
The second night I had hard work to catch him. He ran into the hall and
would not come when I called to him. The third night, when he saw me
making preparations to dress, he acted like mad. He hopped all around
me, put out his tiny wings, and tried to fly onto me, opened his bill,
but not a sound came out. As I stood in front of my dressing table he
flew to the top of his cage (which stood on the floor) to the back of
a chair (which was near me), then up to my shoulder, chirping away
so merrily that I knew he was saying: "Please take me with you." Of
course, after that it is needless to say I took him down-stairs, and he
has gone down every night since, where he remains until 8 o'clock, then
is put into his basket, and I hear no more from him until morning.
On pleasant mornings I sit on the piazza and Little Billee sits on my
hand or plays in my lap. When I walk on the sidewalk Little Billee
goes, too, and never offers to fly away, and if the wind blows he holds
on tight. Sometimes he sings and always seems interested in all that is
going on about him.
Twice Little Billee has flown out of my window from fright. Once he was
on my shoulder when a very small girl with a very large hat came up to
him and away he flew. The next time a large bunch of ferns was brought
to me. I thought he would like it and think it was a nice little tree,
but I am all the tree he seems to care for. He was so frightened he
flew onto a chair, and as I held up a fern out of the window he went.
Both times when my maid went to look for him she could not find him
until she peeped, then he answered, and she found him sitting in the
grass waiting to be picked up, and he was delighted to get back to me.
Little Billee has never gone to any one except my physician, and that
was when I had had him about a week. He went to him, hopped all over
his shoulder, picked at his collar and tie and was very friendly. Now
he will not go to even him, and I feel sure I am Trilby and his only
love. Perhaps the children who read this will think Little Billee is a
little angel bird and too good to live, but I will say right here he is
too bad to die. Like all bright children sometimes he is very naughty.
For instance, when I want to lie quietly on my bed in the day time
and Little Billee does not, he will play for some time running up on
the top of my pillow, then down again, hop on my arm, then under the
sheet until he finds my hand; back he goes and does the same thing over
again. When he gets tired of that he will sit on my chin and be very
loving, kiss me in the mouth, and chirp away. When he finds I am not
going to open my eyes or speak to him he will peck and bite my eyes,
nose, ears, cheeks, and lips, and I assure you they are not love bites
either. Then again, when he wants to sit on my shoulder and I prefer he
should sit on my hand, he will fly up every time I take him down, and
bite hard at my hand, and for such a little bird he has a very big bite
and a very fierce look.
He loves to visit my mother in her room, and is very happy walking all
over her and on her head, but she has never yet been able to touch him.
He seems to have eyes all over his head, for, no matter how careful she
is, he always sees the finger. He thoroughly enjoys my squeezing him in
my hand, and kissing him over and over again.
No doubt long ere this my readers have been wondering what kind of a
bird Little Billee is, but that is a question which has not yet been
answered. But I love Little Billee so dearly that it makes little
difference to me what his nationality is or whether his ancestors came
over in the Mayflower, fought in the American revolution, or whether,
like Topsy, he "just growed." It was amusing to see Little Billee the
first time he heard the piano. One morning two friends came to see
me, and while one of them played I lay on the sofa with Little Billee
cuddled up in my neck. At first he was very much afraid and did not
know what to make of the music. Soon he became charmed (as everyone
does who hears exquisite playing) and craned his little neck way out,
opened his bill, as if he were drinking in the sound, then reached
around, kissed me in the mouth, snuggled down again, for a few minutes,
and repeated it as long as she played.
One morning I saw Little Billee lying on the floor before an open
window with his neck stretched out and bill wide opened. I thought he
was dying, picked him up, but found him as lively as ever. When he
did the same thing over again I understood he was taking a sun bath,
and now he takes one every morning. One morning it was quite cold
when we came in from our walk, and I sat down in front of the fire
with Little Billee on my knee. It was amusing to see him put his head
on one side, open his bill and drink in the warm air. For six weeks
he strongly objected to taking a water bath, and I really suppose he
was too young and knew best. I left a little dish for several days on
the floor by the side of his cage, but he was very careful not to go
near it. One morning everything was very quiet, I on my bed and Little
Billee playing about the room. Soon he went to the dish, looked in
all four corners, came back to the first one, put his bill in just a
little way, then went the rounds; did it all over again, putting his
bill in a little further, and shaking off the water. After debating a
long time he got on the edge of the dish, put his head in until it was
all wet, then screwed up all his courage and in he went. Such a droll
little figure as he cut, standing there with his body and head held as
high as he could get them, his wings out just a little, not knowing
what to do next. All I could think of was a very timid child going in
wading for the first time, with long thin legs, very short frock, and
arms akimbo. His fear soon left him, and he was bathing like an old
stager. When he finished he got out, gave himself two or three good
shakes, then came over to the bed, and asked me to take him. I did him
up in my handkerchief, but that did not suit him at all. I could not
do anything with him, until I let him get on my bare neck, and covered
him with the trimming of my robe _de nuit_. He was soaking wet and
shivering like a person having a hard chill. He kept very still until
his feathers were dry enough to be dressed. Such shaking, dressing of
feathers, and prinking I never saw. When his toilet was made to suit
him he nestled down under my chin, and we both slept for an hour.
Every day we go through the same performance after the bath. One day
I wanted to do something in my dressing-room, so thought Little Billee
could take his bath and dry himself. Soon I began to hear very mournful
peeps, and I came out to find Little Billee, soaking wet, standing in
front of my bed, thinking I was there and teasing for me to take him.
Of course I could not resist such pleading, so to bed we went. I know I
am completely spoiling him, but he is such a dear no one could help it.
Little Billee has taken a great interest in this tale, and when I write
is always on my shoulder, arm or hand. His favorite place to sit is
on my left hand between my first finger and thumb, as they hold my
portfolio on my lap, and peck at my paper and pen. One day he took the
pen full of ink into his bill then threw the ink all over my paper.
Little Billee has great fun taking the paper off from the bottom of his
cage, and carrying it all about the room, and will take it out as fast
as I put it in. The other day he went into his cage, took the furthest
corner of the paper in his bill, backed out bringing the paper over
his head until it was all on the floor, then went over to the opposite
corner, took that in his bill, backed off the paper until he came to
the end, then went around in a circle like the wind, for perhaps a
dozen times, with the paper perfectly straight out just like a sail.
After a few moments I put the paper back, he took it right out in the
same way and did it all over again.
A number of weeks have passed since I began Little Billee's biography.
He grows more wonderful every day, and his devotion to me is simply
marvelous. Every day he does some new cunning thing and seems to
understand everything I say to him.
The other day he would not come to me when I put down my hand, but ran
across the room. After trying for some time to make him mind, I got up
and said, "Billee, I am going away and leave you," and started out into
the hall. He came chasing after me, and now will always do it when I
tell him I am going to leave him. If I go out of my room and tell him
he _cannot_ go, he will sit on a chair by an open window or play about
on the floor for an hour at a time, and never think of flying out of
the window or going out of the door.
(_Continued on page 48._)
[Illustration: FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.
SAND-HILL CRANE.
1/6 Life-size.
COPYRIGHT 1899, NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]
THE SAND-HILL CRANE.
The sandhill crane is so often confused, in the popular mind, with
the great blue heron, that it may not be amiss to suggest the real
differences between them. We should first remember that the crane is
not found east of Illinois, except casually or accidentally, but is
numerous from Illinois westward to the western border of the plains
during the migrations. It ranges as far north as Manitoba. The great
blue heron is pretty evenly distributed over the whole of North
America. The cranes usually, if not always, migrate in greater or
lesser flocks, alternately circling upward to considerable heights and
sailing straight away, with both soaring and flapping motion, and with
prodigious croakings. The herons migrate singly or in pairs, with long,
steady sweep of the wings, and make no outcry. Close at hand the two
species would hardly be confused by an ordinarily careful observer, but
these large birds are rarely seen close at hand.
The feeding habits of the two birds are very similar, and to this
superficial similarity is largely due the confusion, I suspect. Both
wade into the water searching for some hapless frog or toad, often
standing motionless for minutes at a time until the victim comes within
range of the sharply-pointed beak, when a lightning-like movement of
the head sends the beak completely through the creature, killing and
capturing it with one stroke. The long legs and neck are admirably
adapted to this kind of fishing.
Colonel N. S. Goss describes the courting antics of these ungainly
birds as extremely ludicrous at times. A veritable Indian war dance,
in fact, in which the females join heartily, and like the war dance,
stopping only when the last participant falls down with exhaustion.
It seems to be a sort of promiscuous wedding ceremony for the whole
company.
The crane nests on the dry, flat prairie, usually scraping together
some wisps of dry grass, but often with not even this poor excuse for a
nest. Here two to four drab-brown colored, rough-shelled eggs are laid
and the young reared.
Size seems to be the only criterion which determines what the crane may
eat. Perhaps it might better be said, what he will swallow. He seems to
relish stones, pocket-knives, steel nails and the like fully as well as
the choicest bit of frog or toad. Like many other birds, however, he
regurgitates the indigestible matter, and so takes no harm from this
promiscuous diet. Many of us may have reason to envy him this capacity.
Dr. P. L. Hatch, in his "Birds of Minnesota," gives an interesting
description of the fighting qualities of a pet crane which he offered
to pit against any and all canines, one at a time. One valiant mastiff,
which essayed to do battle with his craneship, entered the ring with
all the confidence of an unbroken record of victories, but a moment
later he "stayed not on the order of his going," carrying with him the
exact pattern of the crane's beak. No other canines ever volunteered
for a similar service.
THE STORY OF LITTLE BILLEE--(_Continued from page 44_).
I have succeeded far beyond my expectations with Taffy and Little
Billee. It hurt me very much to be obliged to punish Taffy when he
would spring at Little Billee, as Taffy and I had been devoted to each
other for two years; still I did not want him to kill my baby bird.
One day Little Billee was sitting on my knee dressing his feathers and
going through all sorts of antics, while Taffy sat a few feet away
gazing at him with longing eyes. I called to my maid to bring Taffy and
hold him on her lap, and then let Little Billee peck and bite his paws,
ears, and nose, and a more astonished cat I never saw. After we let
Taffy go he was found sitting on the cellar stairs in a most dejected
way rubbing his nose with his paw. For several days we did the same
thing until Taffy was afraid at sight of Little Billee. One morning
Taffy came to bed with me, and lay on my arm while Little Billee sat
on my shoulder. Soon Taffy put his chin on my chin, and Little Billee
came and sat close to my cheek. Finally Taffy became so sleepy he
turned over, went fast asleep, and Little Billee hopped down on his
back, and we lay that way for some time. Since then almost every day
Taffy will lie on my lap, and Little Billee will sit on his head, back,
or on my knee and dress his feathers. One day Little Billee had the
impertinence, while I had them both on my lap, to reach out and peck
Taffy in the eye. That was a little more than Taffy could endure, and
he reached out his paw and struck at him. For over a week I could not
get Little Billee to go near him, but now they are very good friends.
Little Billee enjoys going down into the parlors to see visitors, but
he gives them to understand, the first thing, they may look but they
must not touch. He will entertain them by hopping all over me, kissing
me in the mouth and chirping at the top of his voice. When it begins to
get dark Little Billee does not want to be off from me a minute. If I
have him down stairs and put him on the floor he will hop and fly after
me from room to room. The other day I left him in the front parlor on a
plant jar and went into the dining-room and was gone some little time.
When I came back there was no Little Billee to be found. I called him
by name and peeped to him, but I could not get an answer. As I went
upstairs I called, "Where is my Little Billee?" And he said, chirp,
chirp, chirp; and I found him in my room eating his seeds and as happy
as possible.
Since then every day when he gets tired of the parlors he goes
upstairs, for he seems to think my room is his home. One day I watched
him to see how he went. He hopped from step to step. When he reached
the top he flew into my room and lighted on the top of his cage.
Little Billee is certainly not color-blind, for he notices every little
change in my dress no matter how slight it is. He had seen me for weeks
in only my robe _de nuit_, and wrapper. It was pitiable to see him the
first time he saw me gowned in a white skirt and blue waist. I had
to lie down when I had finished dressing and Little Billee came over
to the bed as usual and asked me to take him. I put down my hand, he
hopped on my finger, but when he looked up and saw the blue sleeve away
he went as if he had been shot out of a cannon. He tried several times
but his courage always failed. At last he gave up and went and sat in a
chair across the room, and it was two days before he really liked the
change. Next I tried a pink waist with the white skirt, but that seemed
even worse to him, which seemed very strange, as he had seen me for
days in a pink and white wrapper.
My numerous friends will vouch for the veracity of the story, as they
all think Little Billee is the most wonderful bird they have ever seen.
I only hope my little sketch, told just as the things have come to me,
will give similar pleasure to other invalids.
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| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. |
| |
| Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant |
| form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. |
| |
| Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. |
| |
| Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, |
| _like this_. |
| |
| Chapters on The Eagle and The Story of Little Billee were |
| interrupted by other chapters. Incomplete paragraphs were |
| rejoined but the insertions were retained. |
| |
| The Gorilla illustration was moved from page 3 to page 2. |
| |
| The Contents table was added by the transcriber. |
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