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If my nose and legs were not so long, and my mouth such a queer shape, I
would be handsome, wouldn't I? But my feathers are fine, everybody admits
that--especially the ladies.
"How lovely," they all exclaim, when they see one of us Spoonbills. "Such a
delicate, delicate pink!" and off they go to the milliners and order a hat
trimmed with our pretty plumes.
That is the reason so few of us spoonbills are to be found in certain
localities now-a-days, Florida especially. Fashion has put most of us to
death. Shame, isn't it, when there are silk, and ribbon, and flowers in the
world? Talk to your mothers and sisters, boys, and plead with them to let
the birds alone.
We inhabit the warmer parts of the world; South and Central America,
Mexico, and the Gulf regions of the United States. We frequent the shores,
both on the sea coast and in the interior; marshy, muddy ground is our
delight.
When I feel like eating something nice, out I wade into the water, run my
long bill, head and neck, too, sometimes, into the soft mud, move my bill
to and fro, and such a lot of small fry as I do gather--insects and shell
fish--which I munch and munch before I swallow.
I am called a "wader" for doing this. My legs are not any too long, you
observe, for such work. I am very thankful at such times that I don't wear
stockings or knickerbockers.
We are friendly with Herons and like to have one or two of them accompany
us. They are very vigilant fellows, we find, and make good sentinels,
warning us when danger approaches.
Fly? Oh, yes, of course we do. With our neck stretched forward and our legs
and feet extended behind, up we go gradually in a spiral manner to a great
height.
In some countries, they say, our beaks are scraped very thin, polished, and
used as a spoon, sometimes set in silver. I wonder if that is the reason we
are called Spoonbills?
The Spoonbills are sociable birds; five or six of us generally go about in
company, and when it comes time for us to raise families of little
Spoonbills, we start for our nesting place in great flocks; the same place
where our nests were built the year before.
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