Kitabı oku: «Birds and Nature, Vol. 12 No. 5 [December 1902]», sayfa 5

Alberta Field.

HOW A CAT SAVED THE LIFE OF A CANARY

In a small town in Minnesota, noted for its several state institutions of learning, lives a widow whose success in the training of a cat has made her quite noted in her locality.

Tiger, the cat, is not famous for his long hair nor for his long pedigree. He is simply a creature who has been loved and petted into a wonderful amount of sympathy for his mistress and he seems to know instinctively many of her likes and dislikes, and he would no more harm Dick, the canary, who lives in the same room, than he would attack the hand which places the saucer of milk before him each day.

One morning, Mrs. Rogers (as we will call his mistress, though that is not her true name), allowed Dick to take his bath in his tiny tub upon the dining-room floor, while she rearranged and dusted the furniture of the room, leaving the door wide open during the time. A neighbor sat by the doorway watching Dick bathe and, not having the faith in Tiger which his mistress held, exclaimed, “That cat of yours will kill your bird sometime. I know he will.”

Mrs. Rogers smiled very quietly as she stopped to give Tiger an assuring pat on the head and a word of praise for his good behavior, for she believed he understood the neighbor’s unkind remark.

“Tiger is a good cat and I’ll trust him any time with Dick,” said his mistress, turning away from him to attend to her duties.

A prolonged “Oh!” like a stifled scream came from the neighbor’s lips the next minute for Tiger had sprung at Dick and held him tightly in his cruel jaws.

“See Tige! See Tige!” exclaimed the visitor.

But Dick never fluttered a bit and Mrs. Rogers patted Tiger again as she caught sight of a vanishing stranger cat disappearing through an open window.

“Brave old Tiger! Good little Dickie!” said their mistress, as she took the bird, unharmed, from Tiger’s teeth, which had held the bird safely away from real danger.

Dick flew back to his open cage, Tiger went back to his nap in the sunshine, and the lady visitor learned the lesson that love works wonders in even the creatures that do not speak as we do.

Mary Catherine Judd.

THE POCKET RATS

Rats and mice seem to enjoy living in localities that are frequented by but few other animals. They are also adepts at seeking food supplies and travel long distances when hunger demands and a supply of food is not at hand. The Pocket Rats are no exception to this rule and some of the species live in dry, arid regions where but little vegetation grows, aside from a few species of cactus. The rat of our illustration was found by Mr. Frank M. Woodruff in such a locality, where it had hidden under the sheltering branches of a cactus.

The marked characteristic that gives these little animals their name is the pockets or cheek pouches. These are external openings outside of the mouth and are lined with a furry skin. They are ample in size and the two will hold, in some instances, a heaping tablespoonful of grain. “The filling is done so rapidly that, where a hard grain like wheat is used, a continuous rattling sound is made. The ejecting of the grain from the pockets is aided by a forward, squeezing motion of the fore feet, each foot making two or three quick forward passes. Some of the species seem to thrive in captivity, and after a few days do not fill their pouches, apparently having learned that it is a useless labor. When obtainable, their natural food consists of various plant seeds, but when in the neighborhood of cultivated fields and the vicinity of houses, they feed also upon grain and the vegetable waste from camps and houses. Mr. F. Stephens says that some of the species, whose habits he has studied, will eat about a heaping tablespoonful each of wheat or barley in twenty-four hours and one or two square inches of beet or cabbage leaves.” As they are often found in regions practically devoid of water, a large part of the year, it is highly probable that they obtain the necessary moisture from succulent leaves. In captivity they drink but little water. Mr. Stephens writes of one that he trapped that was evidently very hungry. Placing it in a cage he gave it grain. He says: “It was amusing to see the eagerness with which it immediately went to filling its pockets. It stuffed them so full that it must have been positively painful, and then it would not stop to eat, but hunted about for some exit; not finding one, it ejected the contents of its pockets in a corner out of the firelight and went back for more. This time it ate a little, but soon gathered the remainder and deposited it with the first. After eating a little more, it refilled its pockets and hunted about for a better place to make a cache, seeming to think its first choice insecure. These actions plainly show that they are in the habit of storing away their supplies.” In some fields where they are common it is said that more than a pint of grain is ploughed up in a single cache.

The elongated hind legs, well pictured in our illustration, give these rats a wonderful power of locomotion. As they leap rather than run, they are often called Kangaroo Rats. Mr. Woodruff states that the specimen, which we have used, when trying to escape started with short leaps, but as it gained headway the spans were about four feet in length and at the highest point about eighteen inches from the ground. He found them quite common in the vicinity of San Diego, California. They are nocturnal in their habits, seeking their food through the twilight and night hours, and resting during the day in their burrows or in shaded places near the openings to them.

When resting the position of the feet and the arched back give them the appearance of a hairy ball. The tail is laid straight out from the body, if space will permit, or when the quarters are cramped it may be curled alongside the body. The tail is quite useful, as it is used as a sort of brace when the animal raises on its hind feet to view its surroundings.

There are a number of species of these interesting rats. The first one was discovered and named in 1839. The species we illustrate was first found near San Diego and named Dipodomys similis in 1893.

WINTER VISITORS

For several years I have been interested in birds. I have watched them through the glad nesting time of spring, have sought their quiet retreats in summer and have heard their faraway calls as they moved southward in the dark, cold, misty evenings of autumn; but for the first time I have succeeded in bringing them near enough to study them in winter.

On the ledge of a second story window, out of the reach of cats, a wide shelf is fastened, and above it the branch of a dead cherry tree is securely wired to a shutter. On the shelf I scatter scraps from the table and shelled corn. To the branch, a long piece of suet is always bound with a cord. This is my free lunch table, spread for all my bird friends who wish to come. They have accepted the invitation beyond my expectation, and have fully repaid me for all the trouble it has been to prepare for them, in the pleasure their company gives me. I sit just inside the window and they appear not to notice me, so that I have an excellent opportunity to note their peculiarities.

The one that comes every day and all day, is the tufted titmouse. He comes down with a whir, looks sharply about with his bright, black eyes, then takes a taste of the suet or marrow, and sometimes carries a crumb away. It is hard to tell how many of them come, as they all look so much alike. Not more than two or three ever come at once.

A pair of downy woodpeckers are constant visitors at the meat table. They seldom come together, but sometimes it is the male with his bright red head spot, sometimes the female, in her plain black and white stripe. She is very plain, indeed, and somewhat more shy than her mate. If an English sparrow comes to the shelf while either of them is on the branch, it quickly drops down beside him as if to say, “See here, you are out of place,” and the sparrow leaves without a taste of the good things.

Occasionally a winter wren, with his comical tail and delicate manners, calls on his way somewhere, and makes a pleasing variety in the appearance of the visitors. He eats all he needs of the bread crumbs before leaving, unless some sudden movement within startles him.

The blue jays are the most persistent and least welcome of all. Their plumage is beautiful, viewed at such close range, but their actions are not pleasing. They flop down near the window and look in, turning the head from side to side, as if suspecting some enemy there. The slightest sound sends them back to the trees, but they soon return, and eat as if they were starved, driving their bills into the meat with quick hard strokes, or grabbing at the corn in a nervous, famishing way. After eating a few grains, they fill their mouths and carry it away to hide for future emergencies. I have seen them hide it in an old gatepost or drive it down in the crevices of trees. They carry away more than they eat and probably never find half of it again, for they have no special hiding place, but they tuck it in wherever they see a convenient place. It is somewhat provoking to have the table cleared in this way, unless it is always watched, for the corn is spread especially for the cardinals whose brilliant color is such a delight to the eye amid the sombre colors of winter. There is one blue jay with a drooping wing. We call him our “Bird with the broken pinion.” He appears to have no difficulty in getting to the table, and his appetite is not impaired, but possibly, as Butterworth says, “He will never soar so high again.”

A pair of cardinals come and partake of the corn with a grace and dignity befitting their royal apparel. They do not hurry nor worry, but eat slowly and stay until they have enough. They are very quiet now, but their spring song will repay me for all the corn they will eat.

But of all that come, none are more interesting than the chickadee. He surely merits all the bright sweet things that have been said or written about him. He is the only one that utters a note of thanksgiving for his daily bread before he begins to eat. Then he has such gentle, confiding ways. Today the ground is covered with a deep, sleet-encrusted snow; the trees are all icebound, and it must be one of the most disheartening days the bird world ever knows, yet just now, at four o’clock, two chickadees are singing their good night song outside my window. In a few minutes they will be snugly tucked away in some wayside inn, some sheltered nook prepared by Mother Nature, where they will sleep away one more cold night, to awaken one day nearer the joyous springtime.

Caroline H. Parker.

BEAUTIFUL VINES TO BE FOUND IN OUR WILD WOODS
III

Another beautiful vine that grows wild in most of our states is the Trumpet Flower, a popular name for various species of Bignonia and Tecoma, which belong to the other Bignoniaaceæ or Bignonia family, all of which are either shrubs or woody vines. There are two or three species of this family native to the United States, chief among them being the Tecoma radicans, or what is generally known as the Trumpet Flower. In some parts of the country it is also called Trumpet Creeper.

The word Tecoma is of Mexican origin and means trumpet, the only known difference between the Tecoma radicans and the Bignonia is a structural difference in their pods.

We have several imported varieties of both, that come from South Africa and Japan, but none prettier than the Tecoma radicans or Trumpet Flower, which any of us can find along almost any roadside or in rich, moist woods, blooming in the greatest profusion in August and September.

It is a woody vine, climbing to great heights by abundant rootlets, produced along the stems. Its pinnate leaves have from five to eleven ovate, toothed pointed leaflets. Its deep orange-red flowers come in midsummer and later and grow in corymbs or clusters; its tubular corolla is funnel-shaped, two or three inches long, with five somewhat irregular lobes, within which the four stamens are enclosed; its fruit is a two-celled pod, containing numerous winged seed.

The Trumpet Flower is found in a wild state from Pennsylvania to Illinois, and southward, and is very common in cultivation, being vigorous and perfectly hardy, soon covering a large space and reaching to a height of sixty feet. Blooming as it does in late summer, and early fall when flowers are scarce, the abundance of its great orange and scarlet flowers make a very showy spot in a dull landscape, and an especially attractive bit of color, if you happen to find a vine around which the ruby-throated hummingbirds are hovering, they being very partial to the nectar from its flowers.

It is a beautiful vine to drape a tree that is in itself not very pleasing, or to cover brick or stone outbuildings.

Its faults, and it is a shame to discover faults in anything so beautiful, are a tendency to become naked below, which can be remedied by cutting back, an over abundant production of suckers, and its immensely long roots.

Bignonia capreolata, named for the Abbe Bignon, who first found it, is a closely related species, of a more southern range than the Tecoma, being found in Tennessee, Virginia and Georgia. Its leaves consist of but two leaflets and a terminal tendril. Its flowers, similar to those of the preceding, are orange. In the southern states it is called cross-vine, as the wood if cut transversely shows a cross.

One species of the Trumpet Flower, the Tecoma stans, is a non-climbing shrub of southern Florida and northern Mexico. It grows about four feet high and bears large clusters of lemon-yellow flowers. It is hardy at Washington in the Botanical Gardens and there were fine plants exhibited at the Buffalo Exposition.

J. O. Cochran.