_Can Birds Smell?_
This is a thought that all bird lovers will come face to face with,
sooner or later, and though we may not be able to steal bases like Ty
Cobb, yet if we study the _game_ and watch the _fowls_, _balls_ of
interest are sure to _fly_ our way. There are very few people living in
the country that haven’t seen crows make some queer manœuvres when they
are hunting food.
One hot July day, many years ago, as brother and I were nearing the
house for dinner, one of these old black murderers went quietly flying
across the road about two hundred feet east of my house. When about
three rods in the field he gave a very sudden right-about-face curve,
and hovered for about a second, then started stroking the air back to
the fence. Dropping on the top rail he did not even take time to look
around, but instantly jumped down among the thick growth of goldenrod,
which was nearly as high as the fence. That instant my bare feet started
throwing dust, and in less time than it is taking me to write it I had
the gun and was pushing two loads of number six in the barrels as I ran
to meet him. I got there just in time to draw one long breath, and as he
came flapping up out of the weeds he uttered a gurgling “Caw!” at my red
face which was smiling all along the gun barrels, and his body dropped
beside the road, but a great portion of his feathers floated away on the
air. As we picked him up, four unhatched song sparrows spued out of his
mouth.
On investigation we found an old stump lying on its side in the fence
corner; two projecting roots and its top held the middle about six
inches off the ground; and right under there, nestled away in the dry,
and perfectly out of sight, was this empty song-sparrow’s nest.
As the old birds were chirping around near us a real loud argument took
place between brother and me as to how the crow located this nest.
Brother’s first question was, “Jack, didn’t you know that birds could
smell?” As I laughed he said, “What did you think their nostrils were
made for?”
He insisted that this old ground-bird, as we call them, had been setting
close all morning, and now, just at the heat of the day, the eggs had
become too warm and sweaty; the mother had just gotten off to air them
as Mr. Crow came flying over, and that the crow did smell the eggs.
I put up such an argument it apparently got on brother’s nerves. He
said, “Just you wait a minute,” and he stepped out into the field and
picked up a flat stone about eight inches in diameter, putting it on the
stump just above the nest. Then he took a small handful of punk and
placed it firmly on the stone. As the day was extremely hot it only
required the least touch of a match and he had a smudge started; and
sure enough, as the smoke rose in the air it floated to the exact spot
where the crow was when he turned so suddenly. “Now,” said brother, “are
you satisfied?” and he took the stone, with the punk on it, away from
the fence and put the fire out. But still we have no proof that the crow
smelled the eggs. Yet we were absolutely sure that he could not, and did
not, see them until after he dropped off the fence into the weeds.
Since that I have time and again noticed crows and bronze grackles
locate birds’ eggs where I know they cannot see them.
But I think the turkey buzzard furnishes us the most convincing proof of
birds using their nostrils to locate their food, for we actually know
that they will come for miles and miles, not to carrion, but to freshly
killed beef.
Now here is a fact for you to analyze: One Sunday morning last June I
got up at the week-day hour and took a stroll back to the north pond.
For some unaccountable reason I forgot to take feed to the family of
young pet ducks that were about four weeks old. When I arrived they all
came scudding over the water to me. I had no feed so I picked up a
little coarse earth and threw it out into the pond, and all went after
it; as they rushed out I ran away and came, by a roundabout way, back to
the house, first coming about four hundred feet across newly-cultivated
earth where I had trees set out six feet apart; then I came out on the
ball-ground and made a crooked path for fully three hundred feet in the
dewy grass. As I neared the house I stopped for a few minutes looking at
the climbing roses and listening to the birds, when I heard young ducks
peeping. Looking up, behold you! here were the little pets following the
same trail across the ball park. The sun was just high enough for me to
see the path very plainly in the dew, and these toddlers did not vary a
foot, but came, in single file, right up within twenty feet before they
saw me. I then got some food and they followed me back to their old
stepmother who was waiting in her coop for them. I then went and found
that these little hungry pets had knocked dust in my tracks all though
the cultivated grove. In other words, they had followed every step of my
trail to where they overtook me.
On another occasion I had two young pet silver pheasants, and in March,
1909, I went into the little park and forgot to shut the gate; then,
instead of coming back through it I jumped over the brick wall to the
north and went right on to my work which was at that time laying drain
tile at the extreme north side of the farm, fully three-quarters of a
mile from the park. In going there I had to pass through thirty acres of
woods, where I visited three weasel traps; therefore I did not go in a
straight course. I left home about seven o’clock. At nine, as I was
working with my head down, I heard familiar sounds; looking up, here
were my two pet silver pheasants pecking the earth beside me. They
stayed there until eleven thirty, then both followed me back home just
like two puppies, for their wings were pinioned and they could not fly
four feet, and never could, as this was done when they were very small.
They were about ten months old. There was not a bit of snow on the
ground and the weather was quite warm.
Now these are only a few of the hundreds of convincing facts I have
personally observed which compel me to believe that birds can smell. I
have no positive proof that they can. But I know they can smell, just as
much as I know they can hear.
I will tell you how to prove it to your own satisfaction. When it is
snowing, take a piece of fresh meat that is cold, and lay it down in the
centre of a field. Let it snow under, and if there are crows around see
how quickly they will find it! Or if you are in the northern country,
throw a piece of meat into the snow and let it drift under; the next
morning watch the jay locate it. I refer to the snow because it is the
best natural cover on earth and will give the fairest test, but if you
are where there is no snow to try it out, just take some chaff, straw,
or sawdust and cover your bait with that.
Now I will not say that a crow or blackbird will smell cold birds’-eggs,
but if the eggs are warm and sweaty I know that these cannibal birds
will locate the nest by the use of their nostrils. “Well,” you say,
“that cannot be; there was a crow came right up to the barn while I was
in there.” Yes, but remember he was accustomed to you being around
there. Go to the woods where this same crow has been shot at, and see
how close you will get to him if the wind is in his favor. The great
trouble with the majority of us human beings is that we are too slow to
observe.
I once saw a man run bang into a stone wall; his excuse was that he did
not see it. When I was a boy in Ohio I went with an Englishman to dig
out a rabbit. When we got near the end of the hole Old Jack, as we
called him, dropped on his side and ran his arm right in, clear up to
his shoulder. I was of course peeking very closely, to see the rabbit,
but the instant I saw him pulling out black and white fur I retreated
backwards over a pile of loose sand, looking back just in time to see
Old Jack get it right in the eyes. And say! he came bounding out of that
cavity without being urged, snorting, sneezing and coughing, and with
his long hair thoroughly powdered with yellow sand—and something worse.
He went here and there and all over at the same moment, trying to gather
all the snow in the country in each hand to wash his eyes out with. I
was of course all alone and had to conceal my joy. My joy however did
not last long, for this poor fellow nearly strangled to death and it was
fully fifteen minutes before he could speak; but finally, looking up at
me with his eyes and face all apparently washed into one red blister, he
chokingly said, “Jack, Hi didn’t smell the beggar till hafter Hi ’ad ’im
by the toyle.”