were left upon his neck and back, when suddenly he heard a sound which was sweet music to his ears.
Samson had recognized the voice of his old father in the flight nearby. Pa had just filled his crop with delicious seed and was singing a song of praise and thankfulness. To a truly repentant Samson it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He exerted himself to the utmost, shook off the sparrows and made a bee-line to the flight, saying as he flew, “I will go to my father. . . .”
He had had enough of freedom and more luck than he deserved, for during the night he had been flying in circles and had dropped near to his flight. This final effort was almost his last, for a very exhausted Samson fell on to the netting, and he lay there gasping for breath.
Old Pa’s joy was unbounded, and though he could not get his son back into the flight, he did the next best thing—he fed him through the wire netting. In his own fashion he killed ‘the fatted calf’, much to the brother’s disgust.
We found the ‘Prodigal’ there in the early morn and easily netted him, but we did not return him to the flight; we had noticed the danger signs—the pupils of his eyes were contracted, what feathers remained on the top of his skull were stood on end . . . exposure had done its worst, pneumonia was setting in.
The heat was switched on in the hospital cage (a wonderful gadget), and whilst the temperature was getting up a half-dead Samson was given a nip of brandy.
He was put into an electrically-heated, glass-fronted compartment where he could be kept under observation. He was now too ill to eat and he huddled in a corner, wheezing and spluttering; a few drops of ‘Valpine’ in the vaporizer soon began to take effect and his breathing grew easier.
It was a tough battle to save his life. He was fed with ‘liquid vitamins’ from a fountain-pen filler every few hours. A fresh, palatable spray of millet was put to soak in water and chemical food, to be ready if his strength returned and he was able to eat by himself.
By the time he recovered his new feathers were beginning to grow. We had to watch over him carefully to prevent a relapse, and eventually a very subdued Samson was returned to the flight. If the door was left open it is doubtful if he would wander again, for Samson had been cured of wanderlust.
THE AMAZON
CHAPTER V
THE AMAZON
A Story of a Hen-pecked Husband
AT ‘Lintonholme’ my friend Mr. W. W., a notable breeder and exhibitor of budgerigars, had rather a peculiar experience with a very estimable young lady whom we eventually named Gertie the Amazon.
As a very young lady, Gertie was a bit of a puzzle. It was quite a while before Mr. W. knew whether to call her Gertie or Bertie. She was so well developed, even to the extent of causing her features to appear rather masculine. However, in the end her wattle turned deep brown, and so finally established her as Gertie.
Reaching the age of maturity, Gertie adopted a very superior manner towards her sisters and one of aloofness to the young men in the next flight. Instead of hanging about the wires giving ‘glad eyes’ to these gentlemen, she sat on her perch, prim and proper, yet she missed nothing of what went on around.
Gertie said that the young hens in her flight were ‘fast’, and that they cheapened themselves in the eyes of the ‘Don Juans’, who hung on the far side of the netting, calling to them and talking all manner of sentimental nonsense. She was very sedate and did not indulge in acrobatics. “It is most undignified,” she said, “to hang upside down in the sight of gentlemen budgies.”
She also scolded these young ladies of her domicile for their lack of cleanliness in the house. They scattered everything they could about the flight, in their haste to rush meals so that they might have more time to spend on the wire, flirting with their beaux.
Gertie stood primly on the edge of the pot eating her meals with proper decorum. She chose each seed with care, cracked it and then dropped the husk on to a neat little pile outside the pot; her sisters dropped theirs in the pot or wherever they could, much to her annoyance. Sometimes, they even stood in the pot, scattering the seed all over the place with their feet. The lectures she gave them about dirty feet in the food!—such things jarred upon her nerves and hurt her finer feelings.
Finding that her protests were either ignored or that the invariable reply was, “Oh yeah!” Gertie adopted a sterner attitude and gave these other young ladies a jolly good hiding, which sent them scurrying into the house to sulk. Later, after they had somewhat regained their dignity, we watched them preen their lovely feathers and powder their noses. Oh, yes! budgies do powder their noses, and it is quite a simple process—they just rub them up and down upon the whitewashed walls.
Gertie was very meticulous in all that she did; rising with the dawn she sipped at the water-pot, bathed her face, replenished her crop and then took her exercise. She flew sedately round the flight, pausing now and then to pick up some piece of wood which her sisters had chewed from the woodwork of the flight, or perches. These splinters she carefully dropped into the water-pot, knowing that Albert, the aviary attendant, would empty it. In this way Gertie got rid of much of the litter her companions made.
These Amazons, the masculine type of females, are by no means dirty or slothful. Usually, they are just the opposite, which probably accounts for the hectic time they give to those around them.
Now, in the next flight was a young gentleman budgie who was rather timorous. He was beautifully marked, of a very excellent colour, and of the correct type. In fact, he possessed all the good qualities of the show bird excepting that he failed in one essential—size. He was a wee bit small.
Albert thought him a bit of a dandy, and so named him Bertie, probably thinking of the popular song, ‘I’m Burlington Bertie from Bow’.
It was a pity that Bertie was small, otherwise he would have most likely become a very famous gentleman in budgie circles. His brothers used to twit him; they soon picked up the name bestowed upon him and developed a nasty habit of singing, ‘Here comes Bertie’ to the rhyme of a famous radio signature tune. This annoyed him, especially in the sight and hearing of the young ladies in the next pen.
Bertie, like his brothers, had seen prim and proper Gertie; all had tried to win her affections but he. The continual leg-pulling had created in him an inferiority complex, and while Gertie refused to join in what she termed vulgar flirtations, Bertie was too timid and self-conscious to make any advances to the maid of his desire.
Gertie had noticed him, however, and like Penelope, she had made her choice. At last spring came, and with it the irresistible call of love. One day she was caught by Albert, giving a sly wink to Bertie.
This incident was at once reported to Mr. W., and a little discussion took place upon the merits or demerits of letting such a courtship continue. In the end it was decided to allow the match to proceed. Bertie’s general good qualities but lack of size might be well balanced by Gertie’s similar good points and greater physical development; so they were both moved to a breeding compartment containing the usual ‘villa’ as a nesting place.
Thus started the strangest courtship it has been my lot to witness.
Bertie, out of sight of his leg-pulling companions, plucked up courage to make the first advance; he rushed towards Gertie
