Ethel Tyler has a tame crow for a pet. It is so black and such a
mischievous creature that Ethel named her Topsy.
Topsy was quite small when given to Ethel, and she has learned to say a
number of words.
There is a large orchard back of the house, and Topsy seems to think
this her special playground. Here she can play about and “caw” to her
heart’s content.
She loves to hide among the branches of a tree, then call, “Ethel,
Ethel,” expecting Ethel to come and hunt for her.
Topsy is very amusing, for there is no end to her tricks and pranks, but
she can also be very troublesome if she is so disposed.
Her greatest fault is that of stealing. Small articles, as keys,
thimbles, spools of thread and such things have to be kept where she
cannot get at them or they will be missing.
Her eyes are quick and she is so sly that she generally gets away with
the things without being caught.
When articles are missed, we know whom to blame, but it is quite another
thing to find them, for she seldom uses a hiding place after it has once
been discovered and her plunder removed.
There is one member of the Tyler family that has not a high opinion of
Topsy, and that is Tony, Ethel’s cat.
Topsy does her part towards making the poor cat’s life miserable, and I
guess Tony thinks she is quite successful.
She tips over his saucer of milk, pecks at his tail, swoops down upon
him when he is eating, seizes his meat and flies to a place of safety
before Tony realizes that he has been robbed. Topsy then proceeds to eat
her booty, chattering to herself as though she had done a brave deed.
Tony stands in fear of Topsy, and she knows it, and is not slow in
taking advantage of the knowledge whenever an opportunity presents
itself.
When Topsy calls, “Tony, Tony,” the cat lengthens the distance between
himself and the artful crow, for he knows by experience that she only
wants the tuft of fur at the tip of his tail or a piece of the rim of
his ear.
There is no trouble about feeding Topsy. As long as she has plenty to
eat it does not matter what the food might be and she never stops to
inquire whether it is fresh or not.
She is very fond of fish, and it is amusing to watch her when a fish
cart comes along.
Mrs. Tyler patronizes a certain man that sells fish, and he stops in
front of the house and blows his horn so that she will know he is there.
Topsy has learned to associate the blast from the horn with “fish,” and
the minute she hears a horn blown she starts for the street.
She always receives a piece of fish if it is Mrs. Tyler’s fish monger
that is passing, but it often happens that it is a stranger going by and
then Topsy follows the cart down the street to see if he will not throw
her a piece of fish. If he does not, she comes back chattering angrily
at being cheated out of so enjoyable a meal.
Ethel will call, “Topsy, Topsy,” and the crow will come hopping to her.
“Shake hands,” and Topsy will raise one of her black feet and put it in
Ethel’s hand for her to shake.
When Topsy wishes to go into the house she stands on the door step and
calls, “Mamma, Papa or Ethel” until some one comes and lets her in.
She has many opportunities to leave the place and shift for herself, but
she never goes far from the house and seems to prefer making her home
with the Tyler family.
Martha R. Fitch.
THE WALRUS.
(_Trichechus rosmarus._)
The Walrus (_Trichechus rosmarus_) is a very fat, clumsy brute, much
uglier than his picture, with a coarse, oily skin all wrinkled and
scarred; long, protruding tusks; bristly whiskers and scuffling flippers
that barely serve to move his bulky body over the land. In the water he
is more at home, and though it does not require a high degree of
strength and skill to dig clams, that being his daily occupation, yet he
is able to keep very fat on the fruits of his industry and has much
leisure to swim about or doze on ice floes and sea beaches.
It is only in the arctic regions that Walrus are found. Before the
attacks of whalers and ivory hunters they were found as far south as
Nova Scotia and the Gulf of St. Lawrence, but now they have retreated as
far as possible into the frozen north, living in limited numbers about
Hudson’s Bay, Davis Straits and Greenland and in Spitzbergen and
Northern Europe. In the northern Pacific before the slaughter began the
Walrus swarmed by thousands in the broad, shallow bays from the Alaskan
Peninsula to Point Barrow, where the ice never melts.
The food of the Walrus consists of mollusks and crustaceans, which he
digs from the muddy bottom with his long tusks, and the roots and stalks
of sea-weed. He crushes the clams, shells and all, and swallows the
mass, leaving digestion to proceed as it may. The stomach of a Walrus
killed in Bering Sea by Mr. Henry W. Elliott contained more than a
bushel of crushed clams in their shells, with enough other food to make
half a barrel.
It is principally for its ivory tusks and the accumulated fat which
comes from heavy eating that the Walrus is now being exterminated by
whalers and hunters. To the Eskimo the Walrus means life itself. He eats
the flesh, burns the fat for fuel and light, makes his boats, houses,
harness and harpoon lines from the hide and trades what ivory he has not
made into implements for the guns and whisky so acceptable to primitive
man. The extermination of the Walrus will probably mean the
extermination of the Eskimos, or at least an entire change in their
habits of life.
Although a very fierce looking animal, the Walrus is reputed to be
peaceful and inoffensive except when attacked in the water. At such
times he has been known to hook his tusks over the edge of the boat and
swamp it or even to call in his friends by bull-like roars and smash the
boat to pieces. Besides man, his one enemy is the polar bear, which
creeps upon him as he sleeps and worries him to death. As the Walrus’
skin is anywhere from half an inch to two inches thick and padded out by
an average of six inches of fat, it is almost impossible to reach a
vital place even with long teeth and bear claws, and the Walrus is often
able to flounder into the deep water and escape by remaining under water
until the bear has to come up for breath.
One of the favorite amusements of the Walrus is to float in the water
with his hind flippers hung down and his nose comfortably above the wash
and either fall asleep or indulge in deep roarings which are said to
sound like something between the mooing of a cow and the baying of a
mastiff and which often serve, like whistling buoys, to warn sailors
from rocks and shoals.
The young are born in the spring, and generally on the ice floes, but
being born fat the ice floes are probably as warm to them as is a nest
to a little mouse. The mothers show great affection for their young, and
will not abandon them in danger, even allowing themselves to be speared
while protecting their offspring. As the Walrus are social by nature,
wandering about in great herds, and as they also show a marked sympathy
for each other’s misfortunes, it is very dangerous to wound one in the
water lest the whole herd join in a common defense.
[Illustration: WALRUS.
(Trichechus rosmarus.)]
An adult male Walrus measures about twelve feet from the end of his nose
to that of his very short tail, or fourteen feet to the end of his hind
flippers, and weighs something over a ton. His girth is as great as his
length, in fact, it has been often observed that his great circumference
and too-loose skin seem rather a source of annoyance than otherwise to
him, especially when he tries to land on a sandy beach. Even with the
wash of the breakers he is rarely able to get beyond the water line,
except as the tide goes down and leaves him, dry perhaps, but yet at the
mercy of men and polar bears.
Dane Coolidge.