The gamekeeper perhaps sees more of sleeping birds than most people;
and makes many interesting mental notes of the resting habits of
creatures in his woods. He observes that perch-roosting birds always
rest with their heads to the wind. If when a high wind is blowing a
rook alights on the home-tree, he swings his head into the wind before
settling. So when the wood-pigeons come home with the wind behind
them they pass over their roosting trees, then beat up into the wind.
This is done to defeat the force of the wind, which might prevent the
bird alighting where desired, or might blow him from his perch. At
rest, the bird doubles the knees, as it were, which causes the toes
to contract, the weight of the body resting chiefly on the breast and
on the outspread wings--not on the eggs, if in a nest. The birds'
legs and feet have sinews which work an automatic locking action of
the claws, so that, roosting with knees doubled up, the feet grip the
branch unfailingly. On rough nights, the pheasants take the precaution
of roosting in lower branches than usual. If a strong gale springs up
after a bird has gone to roost on an exposed tree, it may be driven to
seek a berth on the ground--and to the wind that does no good to the
pheasant the passing fox owes his supper.
Some birds seem always half-awake. Wild-fowlers will strike a match at
night to test the question of the presence or absence of wild duck in
the distant creek; if present, an instant quacking will betray them.
Pheasants seem ever vigilant, and on the darkest night it is difficult
to stalk them unawares, however quietly you move. If you come within a
hundred yards of guinea-fowl at night they will raise the alarm. They
excel at talking in their sleep. Sparrow catchers know that directly
their nets touch one part of an ivy-covered wall birds fly out from
another. But some birds, such as the wrens when cuddling in a hole
in the thatch, seem to sleep soundly. And while we have found that
on striking a match beneath a tree where wild pigeons were roosting
they have flown out at once with a clatter of wings, a pigeon-lover in
London informs us that his city birds, roosting on his window-ledge,
lose their wariness by night, and will hold their own in face of a
candle, while a hand is outstretched to touch their necks.
As the day closes in, the partridges seek some sheltered, dry-lying
hollow in the fields, and a covey of twenty birds will huddle on
a spot a yard in diameter. The colder the weather the closer they
roost. The birds on the edge of the ring have their breasts outwards.
Sometimes, by the way, it is unfortunate for partridges and pheasants
that the positions of their nests prevent them from flying to and fro.
Having to force their way through tangled undergrowth, a trail is left
for the fox to follow home. The barn-door fowl, in captivity, may
walk from her nest; but when in possession of a stolen nest abroad,
she resumes the flying habit. Fowls suffer frequently from deformed
breast-bones, perhaps from roosting when their bones are young and
soft. That they and their cocks are not heavy sleepers most people have
cause to know.
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