BIRDS
BUT very few of the boys and girls who watch the many species of our birds flit about in the summer time and who listen in delight to their singing, know that by expending a little time and patience they can make these sweet songsters quite tame. I do not mean that the birds are to be caught and confined; I never could bear to see a bird in captivity, and indeed most wild ones will live but a brief time when so served, but that they can be made gentle in their natural state. Where I live, in the Rocky Mountains, there are countless numbers of birds throughout the spring and summer months and, being a great lover of them, I have naturally observed their habits closely. Trusting, therefore, that some of the boys and girls who entertain the affection for them that I do, will see these lines, I venture to give some of my experiences along the path of bird-life.
Some five years ago I constructed several miniature cottages, with verandas, chimneys and all, and placed them on the fences around our garden. The first season two pairs of wrens selected and occupied two of them; a third was chosen by a pair of bluebirds, and the fourth left vacant. Wrens, as you all know, are never much afraid of anyone, but bluebirds are inclined to be shy. After a short time, however, the pair I spoke of would alight within a few feet of where I was weeding vegetables, and soon came to know that where the ground was freshly turned, there were to be found the most worms. Before the summer was over the wrens and bluebirds and I were the firmest of friends. Daily they ran and hopped and peeped under the plants and flowers. And besides giving me their companionship they did a vast amount of good in the garden by keeping it clear of bugs and worms. It was astonishing the number of these they carried to their little ones.
But time stops not, and finally there came cold and frosty nights that warned my little friends, now comprising three families, that the day of their departure for warmer lands was drawing near; and soon I was all alone.
Every year since then has been a repetition of this first, only that I have more houses around now and consequently more tenants. I firmly believe too, that the first three couples still return to their old homes, for the same houses are taken by the wrens every spring and the same one by the bluebirds.
During the winter also, I sometimes have a few bird pets, though they are others than snow birds. The latter I have never been able to make friends with. When the weather is severe I often try to feed them, but with poor success, as they are always very wild. The pets I have reference to are bluejays and campbirds, or as they are more usually called, camp-robbers. Both species stay here the year around.
Last winter I had a laughable time with them. Shortly after the first snow I noticed a pair of camp-robbers – they seem to go in pairs both summer and winter – around our meat-house. If you have never seen them you cannot know what comical birds they are, so solemn and innocent appearing, yet when it comes to stealing – well, they are the greatest and boldest thieves you can find. If they are about and you chance to have anything eatable around and turn your back for a moment you are pretty sure to find it gone when you look again. I remember while camping one fall, of seeing one of them dart down from a tree and take a slice of meat right out of the frying-pan on the fire! But it was too hot to hold long, and Mr. Camp-robber was obliged to relinquish his dainty dinner before reaching his perch again. Arriving there he sat for a long while, looking down at me with a wry face.
But I am digressing, and must get back to my story of the camp-robbers and the meat-house.
A few days after I first saw them, I went in the house to cut some meat for dinner; while there one of the robbers alighted on a bench placed at the side of the door, and stood peeping in. I cut a small piece of meat and tossed it on the step and in a second he had pounced on it and was away. Everyday, from that time on, just at noon, the pair of them would be watching for me, and I made it a rule to put some small pieces of meat or bread on the steps at that hour of the day. As soon as I retreated a little way they would secure them and fly off.
After they had been with me about a month, a bluejay happened along one day, and seeing them at their meal, invited himself to partake of part of it. The camp-robbers seemed somewhat angry at this, but did not venture to remonstrate. The next day there were two bluejays and by the end of a week I had two camp-robbers and seven bluejays looking to me for their daily dinners.
I fed the whole company all winter and when spring came the camp-robbers would almost take food from my hands; in fact they seemed to look to me for protection, when eating, from the bluejays, who were rather overbearing and wanted more than their share.
Whether they will visit me this winter I know not, but I do know that I should be glad to see them again.
THE WILLOW PTARMIGAN
IT has been claimed by some ornithologists that this species of grouse is not to be found in this country, but it is now well established that it may be found in northern portions of New Hampshire and northern New York. In summer it is distributed throughout Arctic America. It breeds abundantly in the valleys of the Rocky Mountains on the Barren Grounds and along the Arctic coasts. Davie, who is probably the best authority we have, says that the winter dress of this beautiful bird is snow white, with the central tail feathers black, tipped with white. In summer the head and neck are yellowish red, back black, barred rather finely with yellowish brown and chestnut, although the most of the wings and under parts remain white as in winter. Large numbers of the willow ptarmigan are said in the winter to shelter in willow thickets and dwarf birches on the banks of lakes and rivers, where they feed on the buds of the smaller shrubs which form their principal food at that season. Their favorite resorts in day time are barren, sandy tracts of land, but they pass the nights in holes in the snow. When pursued by sportsmen or birds of prey they dive in the loose snow and work their way beneath its surface.
Nests of this species have been found in the Anderson River region early in June and as late as June 24. Others have been found on the banks of the Swan River as late as June 27. One nest was observed July 10 which contained ten perfectly fresh eggs, and another set of eggs was examined July 22, the contents of which were slightly developed. The nests were mere depressions in the ground, lined with leaves, hay, and a few feathers from the birds themselves. These birds often occupy the same nest in successive seasons. Ten eggs are usually laid, though the female is said to lay as many as sixteen. The eggs have a ground color varying from yellowish buff to deep chestnut-brown, more or less sprinkled, speckled, spotted, or marbled with rich brown or black. The average size is 1.78 by 1.25.
Hallock says that the various species of ptarmigan are all Alpine birds, and are only found in the North and on the highest mountain ranges. They are to be distinguished from all other members of the grouse family by the dense feathering of the tarsus and toes, by turning white in winter and by the possession of only fourteen tail feathers. The bill is very stout and the tail always black. The length of the ptarmigan is about sixteen inches. It is a most delicious article of food, whether roasted, stewed, or in white soups. It is said that visitors to Newfoundland assert that the flavor of a plump partridge, well cooked, is unsurpassed in richness and delicacy. A brace of them in season weigh from three to three and a half pounds. On the first of September they are in prime condition, after feeding on the wild partridge berry and cranberry, their favorite food.
When on the wing it is said the scarlet tips over the eyes of the male bird glisten like rubies. The cock exposes himself fearlessly, when in danger, to save the lives of his offspring. He tumbles along the ground a few yards in advance of the dogs, rolling there in order to decoy the sportsman from the brood which the hen is anxiously calling into the thicket. No more touching instance of paternal affection could be witnessed, or more touching proof among the lower creation of self-sacrifice, prompted by love. The poor, feeble bird would almost attack dogs and men in his efforts to save his children.
At times, in some districts, the ptarmigan is so tame that it can be killed with a stick, and at others so wild that it will not allow the sportsman
