A REIGN OF ROBINS
Bob the First, at the head of my long list of robins, having been
killed by my pet owl, I very soon bought another. This one was not so
gentle nor so handsome as Bob the First, his wings and his tail having
their ends sawed off by contact with the wires of too small a cage.
Fearing that he might be lonely in my aviary with only rabbits,
guineapigs, pet rats, and pigeons for company, I bought another
robin called Dick. The new bird was long, straight, sharp-eyed, and
much smarter in his movements than Bob the Second who, of course,
considering the condition of his wings and tail, could not fly, and
was obliged to hop over the ground.
It was very amusing to see the two robins stare at each other. Both
had probably been trapped young, for at that time the law against the
keeping of wild birds in captivity was not enforced, and boys and men
were perniciously active in their depredations among our beautiful wild
beauties.
Bob the Second was very fond of stuffing himself, and he used to drive
the pigeons from the most promising window ledges and partake freely of
the food scattered about.
Poor Dick ran about the ground looking for worms, and not finding many,
got desperate and flew up to the window ledge.
Bob lowered his head and flew at him with open bill. Dick snapped at
him, hopped up to the food, and satisfied his hunger, Bob meanwhile
standing at a little distance, a queer, pained thread of sound issuing
from between his bill, “Peep, peep, peep!”
A robin is a most untidy bird while eating, and as often as Dick
scattered a morsel of food outside the dish, Bob would spring forward
and pick it up with a reproving air, as if he were saying, “What an
extravagant fellow you are!”
Whenever a new bird enters an aviary, he has to find his place--he is
just like a new-comer in a community of human beings. Bob, being alone,
was in the lead when Dick came. Dick, having the stronger bird mind,
promptly dethroned him. They were very amusing birds. Indeed, I find
something clownish and comical about all robins kept in captivity.
The wild bird seems to be more businesslike. The partly domesticated
bird, having no anxiety about his food supply, indulges in all sorts of
pranks. He is curious and fond of investigation, and runs swiftly at a
new object, and as swiftly away from it, if it seems formidable to him.
The arrival of new birds in the aviary always greatly excited Bob, and
he hopped about, chirping, strutting, raising his head feathers, and
sometimes acting silly with his food, just like a foolish child trying
to “show off” before strangers.
When I introduced a purple gallinule to him, Bob flew up into the air,
and uttered a shriek of despair. He feared the gallinule, and hated the
first Brazil cardinal I possessed, and was always sparring with him.
One day I put a second cardinal into the aviary. Bob thought it was his
old enemy, and ran full tilt at him. His face of ludicrous dismay as
he discovered his mistake and turned away, was too much for me, and I
burst out laughing at him. I don’t think he minded being made fun of.
He flirted his tail and hopped away.
At one time Bob made up his mind that he would not eat crushed
hemp-seed unless I mixed it with bread and milk, and he would throw it
all out of his dish unless I made it in the way he liked.
My robins have always been good-natured, and I never saw one of them
hurt the smallest or feeblest bird, though they will sometimes pretend
that they are going to do so.
When Bob took a sun-bath, any member of the family who happened to be
near him would always be convulsed with laughter. He would stretch his
legs far apart, stick out his ragged plumage, elevate his head feathers
till he looked as if he had a bonnet on, and then half shut his eyes
with the most ludicrous expression of robin bliss.
All birds look more or less absurd when taking sun-baths. They seem
to have the power to make each feather stand out from its neighbor. I
suppose this is done in order that the sun may get to every part of the
skin.
His most amusing performance, however, took place when his first
moulting time after he came was over. One by one his old, mutilated
feathers dropped out, and finally new ones took their places. On a
memorable day Bob discovered that he had a real tail with a white
feather on each side of it, and a pair of good, serviceable wings. He
gave a joyful cry, shook his tail as if he would uproot it, then spread
his wings and lifted himself in the air. Hopping time was over. He was
now a real bird, and he flew from one end of the aviary to the other
with an unmistakable expression of robin ecstasy.
Most unfortunately, I had not a chance to study poor Dick’s character
as fully as Bob’s, for I only had him a short time. Both he and Bob,
instead of mounting to perches at night, would go to sleep on the
windowsills, where I was afraid my pet rats would disturb them, as they
ran about in their search for food. Therefore, I went into the aviary
every evening, and lifted them up to a comfortable place for the night,
near the hot-water pipes. I would not put robins in a warm place now.
They are hardy birds, and if given a sufficient quantity of nourishing
food do not need a warm sleeping-place. If we only had a better food
supply I believe we would have many more wild birds with us in winter
in the Northern States and Canada than we have now.
Late one evening I went into the aviary to put my robins to bed. I
could only find Bob--Dick was nowhere to be seen. My father and mother
joined me in the search, and finally we found his poor, lifeless
body near the entrance to the rats’ underground nest. His head had
been eaten--poor, intelligent Dick; and in gazing at him, and at the
abundance of food in the aviary, the fate of the rats was sealed.
I fed my birds hard-boiled egg mashed with bread crumbs, crushed
hemp-seed, scalded cornmeal, bread and milk, prepared mockingbird food,
soaked ant eggs, all kinds of mush or “porridge,” as we say in Canada,
chopped beef, potato and gravy, vegetables cooked and raw, seeds and
fruit, an almost incredible amount of green stuff, and many other
things--and yet the rats had found it necessary to commit a murder.
Well, they must leave the aviary, and they did, and for a time Bob
reigned alone. I did try to bring up a number of young robins given to
me by children who rescued them from cats, or who found them on the
ground unable to fly, but for a long time I had very hard luck with
them.
Either the birds were diseased or I did not feed them properly. I have
a fancy that I half starved them. Bird fanciers whom I consulted told
me to be sure and not stuff my robins, for they were greedy birds.
As long as I took their advice my young robins died. When I went to
my canaries for advice I saw that the parents watched the tiny heads
folded like flowers too heavy for their stalks, over the little warm
bodies in the nests.
The instant a head was raised the mother or father put a mouthful of
warm egg-food in it. The little ones got all they would eat--indeed,
the father, with food dripping from his mouth, would coax his nestlings
to take just one beakful more. I smiled broadly and began to give my
robins all the worms they wanted, and then they lived.
The bringing up of young birds is intensely interesting. I found that
one reason why early summer is the favorite time for nest-making is
because one has the short nights then. Parents can feed their young
quite late in the evening and be up by early daylight to fill the
little crops again. Robins are birds that like to sit up late, and are
always the last to go to bed in the aviary.
I solved the difficulty of rising at daylight to feed any young birds I
was bringing up by giving them a stuffing at eleven o’clock at night.
Then I did not have to rise till nearly eight.
This, of course, was for healthy birds. If I had a sick guineapig,
rabbit, or bird, I never hesitated to get up many times during the
night, for I have a theory that men and women who cannot or will not
undertake the moral responsibility of bringing up children, should at
least assist in the rearing of some created thing, if it is only a
bird. Otherwise they become egotistical and absorbed in self.
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