Kitabı oku: «The Bird Hospital», sayfa 5

CHAPTER VII
JUDY AND NED

Those who have not tried mating and raising birds have lost a great deal of pleasure. Besides being intensely interesting, one learns many things worth knowing.

Once I heard a lady say that she thought all women ought to raise birds before trying to bring up a family, for there was so much to be learned from the birds.

I had a friend who was very anxious for me to try my luck at bird-raising, so one day she brought over her handsome green and gold canary. At that time I had a number of birds, among them three which I thought were females, but I was only sure of one, a little girl sparrow. Blondell – a canary – was given to me for a female, but several said they were sure it was a male. She was an exquisite yellow of different shades, with a topknot of yellow tipped with white, then black, with a catching little bang.

Judy – a canary – was bought for a singer, but the person who gave her to me said she had never sung, but she thought the reason was because she had the asthma. I think she was a goldfinch, for she was very small, with black wing feathers, and a pretty black topknot parted in the middle. I had named her after one of my dearest friends, so I immediately called the green canary Ned after her better half. Ned knew more than any of us, for, as soon as he was let out of his cage, he flew over in front of Judy and sat down before her, never noticing the other birds, and poured the most entrancing song right into her ears.

It certainly was love at first sight, and for a year their devotion was something rare to see. Then Blondell made trouble in the family. Ned and Judy’s courtship was of short duration, and soon they began housekeeping in good earnest. I gave them a cage, and hung it on the wall, so they would not be bothered with the other birds. During the day they went where they pleased, but, when night came, they always went back to their cage and perched as close as they could to each other.

After the eggs were laid, and Judy had to sleep on the nest, Ned perched as close to the nest as he could get.

Judy’s nest was most beautifully made, a perfect symphony of colour, and a delight to the eye. I gave to her bits of pink, blue, yellow, green, and white cotton, little pieces of dainty coloured baby ribbon and pink string. She wove the ribbons all in with the cotton, then festooned the outside with the pink string, and on the top she laid chickweed with its tiny white blossoms. When she was making her nest, I noticed she had the cotton very high above the basket and none in the bottom, so I thought I would lend a helping hand and fix the bottom for her. A more angry bird I never saw when she discovered I had been meddling with something I knew nothing about. She stood on the top of the nest and scolded for some time, then reached down and took out all of the cotton I had put in and threw it on the bottom of the cage. When she was ready, she put the cotton in to suit herself.

She laid four eggs, but none hatched out, so she and Ned took the nest apart, and a new one was made of all new material, more beautiful than the first.

She laid four eggs again, but the long strain of setting was telling upon her, for Ned was not a good nurse, and did not like staying at home and feeding her. If it had not been for me, I am afraid she would have gone hungry many times. Finally one egg hatched out, and it was not as large as a bumblebee. Unfortunately, the chick only lived one day. By that time it was so warm I took the nest away, but Ned’s devotion seemed to increase instead of diminish. Every morning they would kiss each other, and every night before going to sleep, and they always slept side by side. This went on for a year, and they were such a happy pair. In the spring they went to housekeeping again, and everything was going on in the most blissful way when Monie and Blondell thought they would like a beau and go to housekeeping, too. So they began to flirt and coquette in a most shocking way with Mr. Ned, a married man. I used to say: “You naughty, wicked girls, you better stop your nonsense, for Ned will never leave that dear little wife of his, for he loves her too dearly to waste any time on either of you.”

But, alas, a little flattery was all that was needed to make him false to the loving wife, who simply adored him and was his slave.

Judy and Ned had been in the habit of making love to each other on the top of the large mirror over my dressing-table. They would promenade back and forth and toss their pretty heads, and you could easily imagine all the charming little tales of love Ned was confiding to Judy, and every little while they would kiss each other.

Sweet little Monie, with her dainty, quiet dress, did not seem to have any charm for Ned, so she took up with Mack, who was English like herself.

One day when Judy was sitting on her nest, and Ned was getting uneasy and very tired of staying at home and waiting upon her, Miss Blondell sallied forth with every feather preened, until she was a mass of shimmering gold. She went up on top of the mirror and promenaded, well knowing admiring eyes were gazing at her, for how could any one help looking at such grace and beauty? She soon began making eyes at Ned, and calling to him in a sweet, cooing voice to come to her. He simply could not resist her and was soon by her side. Judy scolded and scolded, and called to him many times to come home, but not the slightest attention did he pay to her, and really, I do not suppose he heard one word she said, for he was so completely fascinated with that exquisite blonde. Judy stood it as long as she could, but when Ned kissed Blondell before her very eyes, that was more than any one could expect her to endure. She flew out of her cage, over on to the mirror, and if she did not tell the little blonde lady just what she thought of her, I am much mistaken. She then turned to Ned, in her old affectionate, bewitching way, with her pretty little head cocked on one side, and asked him to kiss her, but he refused for the first time. She went back to her nest broken-hearted, and never interfered with them again. Soon Ned and Blondell had the face to go to housekeeping right next door, Ned going from one house to the other, but Judy never allowed Blondell to enter her door.

I feel sure that Ned really loved Judy the best, for he spent more time with her than he did with Blondell, but there was something about Blondell that he could not resist, for she simply hypnotized him.

I was ill at the time, so I had plenty of leisure lying in bed to watch them. My nurse often said she was so interested in the birds she could hardly take care of her patient.

Blondell was punished for making so much trouble for Judy, for none of her eggs hatched out. Then Ned’s mistress took Blondell to her house and mated her with her bird, Dick. Blondell was only too delighted to have a new lover, and she soon forgot all about faithless Ned. She raised one lovely green and gold bird like his father. I brought them both home, and named her son “Mike” after one of the most wonderful boy singers the world has ever known or ever will. Mike was always very uneasy, and acted more like a wild bird, and it was almost impossible to keep him in his cage. He was full of all sorts of antics and loved to torment his mother.

I looked forward to having a fine singer, but he was not contented in this small town, so one warm, bright morning in the fall he went abroad to cultivate his voice, and we have never seen him since.

I still have Blondell, and some day I hope she may have another son.

CHAPTER VIII
DONA MARINA

Dona Marina came to the hospital, not as a patient, but as a destroyer of patients. Since that time she has been a great deal of care with her numerous kittens and a very bad burn on her side and head. I accidentally turned a tea-kettle of boiling water over her. I dried her as quickly as possible, then covered her with talcum powder, and kept her shut up in the hospital all day.

She was a great sufferer, and for hours was in perfect agony. Still, I did not realize for days how badly she was burned until the hair began to come out. For three months she had a scab as large as my hand.

She bore her sufferings very bravely. When the scab began to loosen, she would come to me every day and ask me to cut off the loose edges. She would stand very quietly while I trimmed them with my manicure scissors.

Every one said the sore would not heal, and, if it did, the hair would never come in, but the scab is all gone, and the hair has come in and almost covered the bare spots.

I so often hear people say: “I would like so much to keep a cat, but I cannot on account of my bird,” or “I would enjoy having a bird, but of course I cannot, because my cat would kill it in less than a wink.” I used to think the very same way. When a child, I had a number of canary birds, which went down my neighbours’ cats’ throats if they did not mind, so I gave up keeping birds, as I liked cats so much better, and I did not have one for years, until “Little Billee” came to me.

I did such wonderful things with Taffy. I think all that is needed is a great deal of patience and to understand cat language and have cats understand you.

Two years ago a neighbour’s black cat was determined to kill my canary Blondell, and I was just as determined she should not. I fought her for a year and a half, but it was simply impossible to keep her out of the house, as our doors and windows were opened nearly as much in winter as in summer, and she would be in the house hours before I knew it. I was not allowed by her owner to put bells on her, so as to warn Blondell and me of her approach, and the first thing I would hear was a crash and the cage fall on the floor. Often when lying down I would hear Blondell screech, and open my eyes to see the cat on top of the cage. As the cage always stood on a low table, it was very easy to reach.

We did everything we could to frighten the cat to keep her away, but I would not hurt her or let any one else. One day the woman who was cleaning for me gave her a dreadful beating with a wet floor-cloth, and said: “Now, I guess you will go home and stay there.” I came out just as the cat was going and said: “Poor kitty.” She turned and fairly flew to my side, and from that day to this she has been devoted to me.

When I found she had fully made up her mind to come here and live, and nothing would keep her away, I said: “I will teach her not to kill my bird.” My friends all laughed in my face and said: “The idea of your thinking you can teach an ill-bred cat, who has never had any bringing up, the same as you taught an intelligent cat like Taffy.”

I soon found the cat was very affectionate, and that she loved me, and that is the best beginning you can have. I named her Dona Marina, as she was black enough for a Spanish lady. Her coat was black and shiny and her head and paws very small. In a few days she knew her name, so I felt she was quick to learn. From the day I gave the name to her, she has never been called anything else, and always answers me and will carry on long conversations with me. If she is up in my room and I go to the foot of the stairs and say: “Dona Marina,” she answers me. If I say, “Dona Marina, are you up-stairs?” she answers twice. I always invited her to come into my room when she came up-stairs, and, if she went after Blondell, I closed my door, then punished her by slapping her paws and talking to her, but never sent her out of my room. She soon understood she could stay there as long as she behaved herself, and spent many hours without me there. Still I was not quite sure of her, and every one said: “She will kill Blondell some day.” When I went out of the house, I sent her down-stairs and closed the door. That went on for many weeks, when one day I went to my room about four o’clock. Dona Marina had been asleep on my bed since luncheon with Blondell and no one else. It seemed a pity to wake her and make her go down, so I thought I would take the risk, and went out and left her. Several friends said they would not feel sorry for me at all if, when I went home, I did not even find a tail feather. I laughed and said I had no fear, as I fully trusted Dona Marina, but I trembled just the same, and, when I reached home at six o’clock, I went to the stairs and called in a shaky voice: “Dona Marina, are you up-stairs?” and when the answer came, “I am here,” I fairly flew up the stairs, and there, to my great joy, was Blondell happy in her cage and my little black lady stretched out full length on my bed, greeting me with loving eyes and a sweet song. Since that day I never gave her a thought. She sits on the table by the cage and looks at Blondell, never putting up a paw, and lies down and goes to sleep by the side of her.

Dona Marina very seldom walks on the floor; she simply flies through the air. She comes on a run from the kitchen, lands in the middle of the dining-room table, then jumps into a chair by the back parlour door, into a chair in the back parlour, into another chair, then on top of the table. If she is on her way up-stairs, she makes one grand leap, which lands her in the front parlour by the door going into the hall. She never pauses, but on she flies up the stairs into my room, over the top of the bird-cage, on to my work-table, and sits down, as if it were the only way to enter a room.

She is a very intelligent cat, and I often wish she did not know so much. Like all my pets, she is spoiled, and does everything she wishes to. Last spring she had her first kittens, and I, of course, was the trained nurse, and such a time as I had. As four babies were too many for me to have up-stairs, two were taken away at once and put in a pail of water. Then my trouble began. She took on so, and seemed to think I could bring them back, and would not give me any peace until I fished them out of the water, dried them on a towel, and brought them into the parlour. She took them at once up to my dressing-room. She had her bed in a nice basket, with linen sheets, in an old-fashioned chest. After a few minutes, I brought them down and she came for them. After taking them back three times, she found she could not bring them to life, and gave up. When I had gotten into bed, she came to me, talked, then went back to her babies. After keeping at me for a half-hour, and I did not make any move to get up, she came and took right hold of my chin. After she bit me three times, I thought I had better get up and see what she wanted. She soon made me understand she wanted the basket taken out and put on my bed, so no one could get her babies. I did so, putting a kimono on the foot and covering the basket. She got into the basket, and there was no more trouble. I did that for two nights, and then she seemed to think there was no more danger and she stayed in the chest.

One night she insisted upon my getting up at three o’clock. I thought she must be hungry, and went into my dressing-room and saw that there was no milk in her dish. I also felt there was a great change in the weather and saw the ground was covered with snow, so I put down the windows, then went down-stairs after the milk. When I came back, I found Dona Marina in the basket with her kittens, looking very happy. I offered her the milk, and she said: “No, thank you. It was too cold for my darlings, and all I wanted was the window put down.” I could have choked her with a good will.

When it was time for her children to learn to get out of the basket, she lifted them out and put them on the floor, and asked me to take the basket. One was black as coal, and the other maltese. The black one we named “Ping,” and the gray one “Pong,” and they were very different in all their ways.

My trials began when their mother thought they needed something more than milk. Every one said: “You want to look out for Blondell, now Dona Marina has her kittens,” but she went outdoors for all of her game, and the dear baby birds she used to bring in almost broke my heart. She would bring them to me first, but, if they were not dead, they were wounded so they soon died.

One day she carried a large fish up to them just as the man brought it in the paper. When they were four weeks old, she thought they ought to sleep on the foot of my bed instead of in their basket. I was determined I would not give in to her, but, after keeping me awake until after two o’clock one night, I said: “Go bring your babies, and we will all go to sleep.” After that they slept on the foot of my bed until they were given to a very nice little girl when they were two months old.

Dona Marina mourned for them for two weeks, and would carry up food in mouthfuls and look all over for them.

Two months ago Dona Marina presented me with four more babies, which was a little more than I had bargained for. Two were taken from her before she hardly had time to count, so she did not make as much fuss as she did the first time.

A little girl came to see them, and said: “Why don’t you name them after their mother?” I said: “I do not think it would be nice to call them both Dona Marina.” She said: “Oh, no; call one Dona and the other Marina.”

Dona is twice the size of Marina, is black and white, and looks like a little circus pony. Marina is most beautifully marked. Her head, back, and tail are black, face black, also her legs, white whiskers, and a tiny white line between the eyes. Under her chin white about as wide as your finger, then broadens and goes half down the neck, broadens out again, narrows at the breast bone, broadens again, and goes all the way down. She has four white paws, so you see she has a very swell black and white costume.

Marina is full of mischief, but very affectionate. Dona is much more quiet and dignified, but is also affectionate, and loves to have me take him on my shoulder.

They were born in the same basket, and Dona Marina went through the same performance about taking them out when it was time to have the basket on the floor, also the same performance about sleeping on the foot of my bed, and, of course, I had to give in to her.

At the present time Marina is on my lap and Dona on my shoulder. They have full sway of the house, and what they cannot do is not worth doing.

One day when I came in, I thought there must have been an army of children in the parlours, by the sight that met my eyes. All the books from the lower shelf of the bookcase were on the floor. They had gotten up on the magazine table and thrown all the magazines on the floor. Sofa pillows were everywhere but where they ought to be. A large corn-cob in the front parlour, and corn-husks here, there, and everywhere, with scraps of paper in every direction, and Dona and Marina fast asleep in the empty scrap-basket, while their mother lay curled up in an easy-chair.

During the day they go outdoors and all over the house, but when the house is lighted, they seem to think up-stairs is the place for them.

We have had great fun catching flies. They come and ask me to help them. I take my handkerchief, and, when I get a fly in it, they come and take it out, and sometimes there is quite a fight to see which gets it.

I was in hopes to have had many interesting things to tell about Dona and Marina, but a friend came for them to-day, and I could not say “No” again, as I had promised them when they were wee babies, but I shall miss them greatly, and I feel very sad and lonely to-night without my baby pets.