When I came down stairs in the morning I found him in possession of
the premises. I watched him for a few minutes with much interest. I
had not before seen a California wren, and found him very different
in appearance and conduct from the eastern wrens with which I was
acquainted. "Wrensie" was very self-possessed, and did not appear to
resent my intrusion at all. In fact, he seemed disposed to ignore my
presence, a fact which led me to judge it best to adopt the same course
toward him.
I must explain our situation a little by saying that, as the cottage in
which I was living was in a very unfinished condition, the lower floor
was not divided by any partitions, the kitchen in the L and the front
room forming one large room.
The weather being warm, and the walls open, the flies were very
numerous in the room, a fact evidently keenly appreciated by the little
fellow, for, as I proceeded to sweep the whole house he did not allow
his industry to be seriously interfered with. While I was busy in the
attic he was not idle down stairs; while I was regulating the front
room he was picking up things in the kitchen. When I approached him
too closely he would quietly slip out of doors through one of the
numerous openings about the floor, or perhaps go up into the attic
which was very accessible to him. He rarely remained out of doors more
than a few minutes at a time. A forenoon of house-cleaning would seem
more favorable to an estrangement than to a rapprochement; yet while I
was at dinner I felt something upon my foot. Looking under the table
I saw Wrensie perched upon my shoe. While I watched him he jumped up
on a fold of my trousers, apparently thinking it a better point of
observation. He was not disturbed by my interest nor by my motions at
the table. He never seemed to mind ordinary motions even when he was
very near. With other birds I have considered entire quiet necessary
under such circumstances.
I maintained my policy of manifesting no concern as to Wrensie's
movements, merely abstaining from making any very sudden or rapid
motions which would be likely to startle him. With this single
exception I went about all work freely. While I would have been glad
to cultivate his acquaintance, quickly, I thought it better not to
try to do so. The universal method of winning favor in the eyes of
such strangers is to feed them; but Wrensie would have nothing but
live game, and no kitchen delicacy received a moment's attention.
Fortunately, however, there was little need of studying to win his
confidence, as but little encouragement was necessary. He was afraid of
nothing; not from innocent ignorance by any means, but from complete
self-confidence. He was not defiant, but intrepid. This confidence was
not gained by observing that he was not molested, but had its source
in the spirit of the bird, as shown by the fact that there was little
difference in his demeanor during the six days he was with me.
The next day a mason came to the ranch to see about a proposed
fireplace and chimney. As we stood talking over the matter, one on
each side of a small table, my little boarder came and made a thorough
search for game among the various articles on the table. While working
in the kitchen I often found him at my feet, several times even between
them as I stood at the stove or table. This was a position of such
danger to him that I felt obliged to be very cautious in my movements.
Occasionally he would perch on my shoulder or head, never staying very
long but never betraying any distrust.
It was most entertaining to watch him in his pursuit of game. As a
hunter he was full of resources, untiring in his efforts, insatiable
in his appetite. When he saw a fly on the floor or table near him he
would slowly and stealthily approach, his little black eyes snapping,
his frontal feathers depressed so as to give him a vicious look, and
often with his wings trembling with excitement as he held them slightly
loosened at his sides. When he judged himself near enough he would make
a little run and try to snap up his victim. This method of stalking,
though much used, was the least successful of his hunting expedients, a
large majority of the flies escaping.
When in a favorable locality he would sometimes keep quiet for a
time--that is, relatively quiet--as quiet as a small bird can be
expected to remain, ready to seize any impudent flies that came within
the reach of his bill, which would snap on them with a loud sound. He
was most skillful at this, making the quickest motions conceivable.
Although these snap shots were very successful, the flies rarely came
past in sufficient numbers to satisfy him long, and he would soon set
out to hunt up his game.
Then there was the full chase. It was not now a matter of a little dash
on foot, but a full flight after a big blue-bottle fly which can dart
through the air like a bullet. Back and forth they go with a great rush
and much dodging. When caught, these big flies made a large mouthful
for the victor. He would light on the floor and proceed to swallow his
prey. This usually required several efforts. Watching him called to
mind one's own experiences with big gelatine capsules. With the final
and successful effort Wrensie's eyes would close with a distressed look
as the fly went down his throat.
Flies were often to be found floating on the surface of the water in
a large water pail. This fact did not long escape Wrensie's eye, and
he made his round to this trap with much regularity. When the pail was
well filled with water he could reach the flies with comparative ease;
but when the water became low this became a most difficult matter. He
did not fly down to get them, but would reach down while hanging to
the edge of the pail. Often repeated trials were necessary. It was
surprising to see to what a distance he could stretch himself in these
efforts. Holding on to the edge always, he would swing himself down,
stretch his neck to the utmost, and then, just as he was on the point
of falling into the water, with a quick flutter of his wings he would
raise himself to the top again, never relinquishing his hold on the
rim. In this way he would pick up flies at the center of the pail when
it was not half filled with water, which, in view of the small size of
the bird, was an acrobatic feat.
Then there was the battue. When he approached a window thickly covered
with flies a scene of the wildest excitement followed. Wrensie would
dash into the melee, afoot or a-wing as it happened, his bill snapping
faster than a repeating rifle. The slaughter would be continued until
the remaining flies were dispersed, which soon came to pass.
Even the still hunt was not without interest. No setter ever worked
the ground more faithfully. Every nook and corner of the house was
examined for moths. Moreover, every article was scrutinized, and, when
possible, he looked beneath and within. A pair of working gloves lay
upon the floor. Wrensie unhesitatingly went in, disappearing entirely
and remaining long enough to put his head into every finger--which he
may, or may not have done. It interested me much to note that in such
explorations his assurance was complete. In this kind of delving I was
prepared to see some hesitation in my presence. It seemed to me that
when I was standing by him it would be only reasonable caution on his
part to remain where he could keep his eyes on me. But he never seemed
to watch me; and gave me numerous opportunities to capture him, as he
would disappear in a dish or in some hole, and remain for some time. He
never hesitated in this, nor did he seem to scrutinize his surroundings
before going out of sight.
Wrensie was not only persistent and thorough in his search for moths
in dark corners, but determined as well. He would crowd himself into
openings so narrow that he would have to back out after concluding
the search. One day he undertook to pass between two cans on a shelf.
He made a strong effort, but so narrow was the passage that he could
not push his way in; his wings were too prominent. He backed away a
few steps and looked at the crack a moment with his head cocked on one
side. Then quickly stepping up to it, he stood on one leg, turned his
body up edgewise, and squeezed through.
Perhaps as good an example as I can give of Wrensie's fearlessness
is to describe his behavior one day when I had some work to do on
the outside of a window. I stood on a staging just in front of the
window, and was engaged in driving nails in the window casing. This
hammering made a great noise, shaking the loose sash sharply. Wrensie
was busily engaged catching flies on the inside of the window, standing
on the top of the lower sash; that is, at the middle of the window.
All my motions, all the noise and the jar failed to frighten him away,
although at times he looked at me pretty sharply.
While so courageous in most ways, still Wrensie had his ideas of
caution. Upon my return to the house after a short absence he would
usually leave the room abruptly, either going out of doors or up into
the attic. Even if I came in very quietly, taking precautions not to
disturb him, the result was the same. This conduct always seemed to me
a curious fact, and an inconsistency which I could not explain.
Clever and interesting as he was, Wrensie had his shortcomings. His
disposition was not that of the typical bird: "Sweetness and light"
were not his. In his spirit was none of the exuberant joy of the
great songsters, nor any of the bonhommie of happy-go-lucky sparrows.
During the whole term of our acquaintance not a sound left his throat!
In complete silence did he pursue his vocation. A perfect helpmate,
but a faulty companion. A very practical sort of bird he was, full
of activity, but without vivacity. Can it be that the spirit of our
industrial age is so pervasive that even the birds are unable to
escape its influence? It would seem that evolution has produced the
utilitarian and "strictly business" type of character among them.
One day there was a noisy flutter of wings at the door, and the harsh
cry of the butcher-bird was heard. On stepping out I saw feathers
floating in the air. I concluded that I would see no more of my little
companion and helper. The blue-bottle fly was avenged.