_Do Birds Return to Their Same Homes?_
“Do birds return to their same homes, year after year?” This is a
question that has been put to me more than any one along the bird line,
and it is usually followed by: “How do you know?” Then I have had to
take father’s advice, “drop it,” and talk about the weather or some
other side line. For while I was sure of this in my own mind, yet I had
no proof.
On August 5th, 1909, a wild black duck lit with my ducks in the north
pond. I started cozening around her, not by me going closer to her, but
by letting her come closer to me. Finally she was eating out of the
long-handled spoon that I had previously used for throwing little feed
over to her. The spoon, of course, was on the ground, gradually being
drawn towards me until it came over my left hand that was lying flat on
the ground, and on September 10th of the same year this duck actually
ate out of my hand. We named her Katie. In a few months Katie got so
tame she would follow us in the barn where we went after the feed. So I
scraped around in my hunting-case drawer and found a piece of sheet
aluminum about three-quarters of an inch wide and one and a half inches
long; I then took my sweetheart’s best pair of scissors, and with the
pointed blade I managed to scratch my post office address on it. Then I
caught Katie and wrapped it around one of her hind legs. She disappeared
on December 10th, and in January I received the following letter:
ANDERSON,
SOUTH CAROLINA,
January 17th, 1910.
Box 48,
Kingsville, Ontario.
Dear Sir,—
On Friday evening, January the 14th, I was hunting on Rocky River,
near this city. I killed a wild duck with a band on his leg, marked
Box 48, Kingsville, Ontario. I suppose whoever sent him out wanted
to hear from him, so I am writing to let you know where he came to
his end. He was a very fine specimen. I must commend him for his
judgment, for he came to the best County in the best State in
America. If you will let me hear from you I will return the band I
took from his leg. So hoping you will send me his pedigree I will
close until I hear from you. Send me your address in full.
Very respectfully,
W. E. BRAY.
[Illustration:
KATIE FEEDING OUT OF MY HAND]
I at once wrote Mr. Bray and he kindly returned the tag, which is the
centre one in the photograph of my collection of tags. Mr. Bray made two
distinct mistakes; one was when he called Katie “him” and another,
equally as big, was when he stated that the duck came to the best spot
in America, for the fact is that Essex County, Ontario, this duck’s
summer home, is the best spot on this beautiful earth; this, of course,
will include all of North America.
In 1910 and 1911 I was so busy I didn’t take the pleasure of tagging any
more, but in the spring of 1912 I hatched four young mallard. No, I
didn’t hatch them; I stole the eggs from a black duck that had paired
off with a gray, green-headed mallard drake and set them under a
domestic fowl; a few days after they were hatched they accepted me as
their step-father, and this old hen and I succeeded in raising four. I
always fed them in one spot on the brick wall that surrounded the pond.
The fish got so they came regularly for the bits that the ducks pushed
overboard; as I would tap the tin to call the ducks, I also called the
fishes. I was compelled to believe this, for before I would drop a bit
of food, the fishes would be right there. They were what we call
bull-heads, a little, miniature cat-fish, about six inches long. To see
them with their whiskers up above the water all along the wall was quite
interesting, especially when I would go to the opposite side of the pond
from where I usually fed them, and tap the tin. This makes me think of
the Irishman who was asked the question “Do fish sleep?” He replied, “I
never caught any that way.”
At any rate the little ducks got all they wanted to eat, for they grew
like mushrooms. I took a day off for no other reason than to go to
Detroit and buy sheet aluminum and a set of stencils, and when these
four ducks had their growth, each was presented with a leg-band stamped
with the following inscription: “Write box 48, Kingsville, Ontario.”
These four ducks’ names were Polly, Delilah, Susan and Helen. On or
about December 5th they left, and on the following day Dr. Rutherford,
Chatham, Ontario, shot Helen at Mitchell Bay, Lake St. Clair, Ontario.
Well, I looked to hear from the other three, all winter. But to my
delight, on March 10th, 1913, Polly came home, and on the 18th, Delilah
came; and although badly crippled in the wing and leg, Susan came
squawking down out of the heavens on March 30th. I caught each one and
examined their tags; and for the next three months I did all I could to
induce people to ask me how I knew that birds returned to their same
homes, for I had double proof: First, these ducks were mulattoes; they
had a black duck’s breast, and a grey duck’s wings. But the climax was
the tags that I put on their legs.
That summer, 1913, Polly and Delilah each raised a family, but Susan
remained in the hospital nearly all summer. That fall they all three
migrated again, and Noah Smith of Paris, Kentucky, shot Susan, February
27th, 1914.
On March 14th, Polly came home. On March 21st Delilah came; she was
accompanied by a Yankee sweetheart and this spot seemed too good to be
real for him. When Delilah would come to me, he would scour the heavens
above, but finally he believed what she said and he, too, came to me for
food.
That summer Delilah raised her family, but Polly came home May 20th
without any, and both ducks migrated again that fall.
On March 13th, 1915, Delilah came home, and on the 16th Polly came, but
Polly had had a narrow escape, as part of her beak was shot off. The
sight was pitiful. With a fragment of her beak hanging down she could
hardly eat, so I mixed up some corn-meal and put it in piles for her.
Finally I reached out and grabbed the opportunity, then with the
scissors in the other hand I clipped the dead fragment of her beak off,
and in a few days she appeared to eat quite naturally. Later on I caught
the two sisters, put them in a twine sack, took them to town, stood them
on a table and stroked them until they became quite contented; then I
stepped back and the photographer took the photograph which is shown.
[Illustration:
POLLY AND DELILAH
Wild ducks spending their third spring at my home. Notice where the
piece has been shot off Polly’s beak.]
My boy said Polly got her beak a little too far ahead. At any rate she
appeared to think that was a close enough call for her, and the next
winter she did not migrate, but stayed here with our domestic fowls, and
she was shot by a wild goose hunter in April, 1916. But Delilah
continued to migrate and returned for the sixth time on March 25th,
1918. That summer she raised a family of twelve, which is, by the way,
the largest family of mallards I have ever known to grow to maturity.
The last I have any positive proof of seeing her was in September, 1918.
During the six years she brought to my home five families, two eights,
two nines, and a twelve. In 1917 she came home without a family.
Providing all of her descendents multiply as she did, how many ducks
have you got in six years? Surely this is worth thinking over, and when
we see that it runs up into the thousands we cannot help but be
encouraged, and our confidence increased in His lovable, truthful
promise to us, His children; for He says “Let the mother go that it may
be well with thee, and that thou mayest prolong thy days.” Who could ask
for a plainer fulfilment of His promises?
Now in case the reader might think that possibly I am mistaken in the
ducks, and this was not the same bird, I will say that outside of other
proofs of her being the same duck (such as coming when we would call
her, and now and then eating from our hands, her peculiar marking, and
so forth), we caught her each year and examined the tag. In the spring
of 1917, after she had returned the fifth time, Mrs. Miner and I caught
her and gave her a new tag, as the old one was so badly worn.
Now before I go farther I want you to stop and think. Remember, these
are just wild ducks that we are apt to think know so little. Yet the
fact is, these birds have shied out around thousands of hunters who are
hidden in the ambush with all kinds of decoys to assist them. Yet these
ducks have outwitted them all, year after year. Then when they return
they will almost eat from my hand the first day they arrive, when if
they had allowed themselves to have ventured within two hundred feet of
the hunters’ decoys it would have been almost sure death to them. Can
you blame me for enjoying nature study? Do you wonder that I have hung
up the gun and am trying in my A, B, C fashion to tell you these
unpolished facts? Yet I doubt if the best writers on earth could give
you a taste of this grateful feeling in having your pets return to you
year after year for food and protection; really it almost makes you feel
you were personally present when He said, “How often would I have
gathered thee as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings.”
Another thing that interests me: These ducks always leave here in
flocks, and return singly, except those that have doubled by bringing
mates. I have never seen two with tags on return together. In 1914 I
tagged twelve. One was shot at Gueydan, Louisiana and one at Cooksville,
Tennessee. In the spring of 1915, day after day added to the number
until on March 28th there were six sitting on the brick wall surrounding
the pond with bright aluminum tags on their legs. In the fall of 1915 I
tagged fifty-three, and in the spring of 1916 nearly half of them
returned. In the fall of 1916 I caught and tagged fifty-four, and in
catching these fifty-four I caught twenty-three that had been tagged
previously.