Chapter XXXI: Part IV: Domestic Pets (2)

In that country they shave all kinds of dogs in the same manner, leaving only a ruff round the neck, a tuft on each leg, and a tuft on the end of the tail. There are men and women who make the clipping of dogs a profession. They have carts with pictures of dogs undergoing the process, and they perambulate the streets in search of patients, just as knife-grinders do in search of work.

When they have collected a goodly assemblage of dogs, they set off to the river side, and take up their station under one of the bridges. The poor dogs, which have been trailing behind the cart at the end of cords, are now bound and muzzled, and miserable objects they look as they lie on their sides awaiting the shears of the operator. The hair that is removed is put into sacks, and sold, it is said, for manure; and the dogs are returned to their owners, metamorphosed out of all knowledge, and shivering at the slightest breeze.

If your dog should be ever troubled with ticks and fleas, you may free him from his foes in ten minutes. First tie up his mouth with a piece of broad tape, to prevent him from licking off the substance which is to be applied; and if he is not very well under command, tie his legs also. Then lay him on a cloth, sprinkle him over with the insect-powder, which may be procured in small quantities at No. 33, Newgate Street, and rub the powder well into his fur from his nose to the tip of his tail. When you have done this, roll the cloth round him, and pin it well together, so as to envelop him entirely in its folds.

You may let him lie as long as you like, but ten minutes will mostly be sufficient; then with a hard brush go all over him, and brush out all the powder into the cloth. You will be surprised at the multitude of parasites which will be lying dead and dying in the cloth. The powder, insects, and all should be carefully shot into the fire, and your doggie will be grateful to you for the relief which you have afforded him.

Perhaps next to the bull-terrier ought to come the Scotch terrier, a dog that will hunt anything, and is always a quaint, independent beast, with something of the lawless Highlander about him, but a capital companion for any one who values dogs and knows how to treat them. Spaniels are all beautiful creatures, very affectionate, and often very clever; but their long, silky hair gets sadly bedabbled with mud and wet, and they cannot be admitted into the house until they have undergone a careful purification.

Whatever dog you may have, do not tie him up in a kennel, or, at all events, allow the animal to enjoy human society for some hours daily. Dogs are _made_ savage by this too frequent procedure, especially those whose blood is purest and whose spirits are highest. A dog that is chained to one spot is sure to be irritable and captious, just as would be the case with a man who is tied to one spot. Even the kingly spirit of Napoleon lost its grandeur and became peevish and fretful when that restless and ambitious nature was confined within the narrow limits of a rocky island; and we cannot expect that the mind of a dog should be superior to that of an autocrat.

As to the food of the dog, there is one simple rule,--do not overfeed him; and, above all, never let him have scraps at meal times. It is a very tempting practice, for the dog is so insinuating in the manner of his request, and his thanks are expressed so warmly, that some little strength of mind is required to refuse his demands. Still it is one of the occasions on which the dog’s owner must show his firmness, for there are few more miserable beings than a fat, over-fed dog. His life is a positive burden to him, and the only remedy is to starve him down to his proper dimensions. Give the animal but little meat and plenty of biscuit, feed it once only _per diem_, and you will be repaid by the healthy and active condition of your pet.

Lastly, as it is likely that the dog may fall into one of those canine ailments which are to dogs what measles and chicken-pox and whooping-cough are to children, we will just give a brief piece of advice.

Distemper is the most common and most annoying of those ailments; and if the services of a professional dog-doctor can be had, let the animal be placed under his care. If no such assistance can be obtained, the best plan is to give the dog no solid food, but to administer gruel or weak broth, to prohibit _every kind of exercise_, and see that the ventilation and cleanliness of his house are as perfect as possible. Leave the rest to nature; and when the patient is recovering, let it be led about to exercise, so as to avoid over-fatigue, which would, as a matter of course, throw him back again.

GOLD AND SILVER FISH.

These are of the carp family, and have been known in this country from the year 1691. They abound in the fresh-water ponds, lakes, and rivers of China; nor are they, indeed, at the present time quite uncommon in our own climate, being now naturalised in ponds, and breeding freely in pure waters. At Hampton Court are to be seen some of the finest specimens of the family, originally placed there by Mr. Jesse, to whom the frequenters of that place of public resort are so much indebted. They have increased to several hundreds, and many of them are of prodigious size and very fat, being to fish what royal porters are to men.

The colours of gold-fish are liable to the greatest variation: some are nearly all gold, mingled with red; some are marked with a fine blue, brown, or bright silver hue; but the usually predominant colour is that of a brilliant gold. As an article of food, they are not used; and are only valued for their beauty and gentleness. It is a curious fact in the history of the gold-fish, that it will bear without injury the extremes of heat and cold; as it will live equally well in a tank, in a glass vase, and in a pond in the open air. Instances have been known of gold-fish having been frozen hard and stiff in the water, but yet, upon being gradually thawed, becoming perfectly healthy and well.

Although many preserves of gold and silver fish exist in this country, the supply was principally from Portugal, where they abound. They are brought over in large numbers about spring time; and then numerous perambulatory gentlemen, having purchased a few small glasses of the most inferior description, and fish at twopence each, very moderately ask, and often receive, for a couple of fish, glass, and water the sum of five shillings; but our young friends must beware of such persons, for the fish they sell usually die in a few days or weeks.

The silver-fish differs from the gold-fish only in colour, which is similar to silver tissue: it generally has scarlet fins, and is curiously marked in different parts of the body. Both varieties are also subject to variations in the fins, which are occasionally double; and specimens have been seen with triple tails.

GLASSES.

The glasses, or globes, should be moderately large, with wide mouths, and three-fourths filled with water. For two fish the globe should be at least a foot in diameter; and for three or four fish, sixteen inches. They should be kept in a cool place--never exposed to a burning sun, or the heat of a fire. Too many should never be crowded into one glass. A few branches of box should be kept in the globe, for them to rub against, which should be changed once a week.

FEEDING.

Some persons fancy that gold and silver fish need no food. It is true that they will subsist for a long time with nothing but water, when it is pure and frequently changed. They are best pleased with such _jejune_ diet as bread or biscuit; but these should be given sparingly, lest, turning sour, they corrupt the water. They will also feed on the aquatic plant called lemna, or duck’s-weed, and also on small fry. Hawkins, the editor of Walton, says that fine gravel should be strewed at the bottom of the vessel that contains the fish; and he directs them to be fed on bread and gentles, and to have their water frequently changed.

DISEASES.

You can easily tell when a fish is falling off in his health by observing him frequently coming up to the surface of the water for air. This shows he has not sufficient power in his gills to extract the air from the water. He also looks dull, and his motions are languid; a hazy or cobwebby appearance likewise seems to envelop his body, and perhaps some of the scales will drop off. When a fish gets into this unhealthy state, he should be immediately removed from the others, who should have fresh water given them several days in succession. The best remedy for diseased fish is to put them into a pond for a few weeks; and it is especially necessary for female fish, which, if not so treated, frequently die for want of spawning. A fish is sometimes saved by being placed in a little artificial dam, made from some running stream in a garden, for two or three days; but their diseases are at all times very difficult to remedy. The best way is to prevent them by the precautionary measures--plenty of room and pure water.

THE GUINEA-PIG.

The guinea-pig, or restless cavy, is a prettily-marked, stupid, little animal, which came originally from South America, and has long been a favourite with most little boys, for when a boy becomes a youth he aspires to keeping something more interesting than these senseless little squeakers. Still it is a pretty sight to see the old ones followed by two or three litters, and to watch their antics when pleased, which consist of a squeak and a peculiar sharp turn, as if they tried to jump out of their skins, but could not, for they are fitted in too tightly for that. As for the use they are, why, they eat and sleep--

“Just do nothing all the day,
And soundly sleep the night away.”

It is, however, a pretty, harmless, little animal; but as a pet is far inferior to others that are more commonly kept. Though gentle and inoffensive in its manners, it seems incapable of feeling the slightest attachment for those who feed and caress it--even for its own offspring it evinces little or no affection: it will not only suffer them to be destroyed before its face, without making the smallest efforts to defend them, but will even at times devour them itself. For all useful purposes guinea-pigs are utterly valueless, though their flesh is used as an article of food in their native country; and their skins, notwithstanding the beautiful sleekness of their appearance, have as yet been turned to no account by the furrier. Their only recommendations, therefore, are the gentleness of their disposition, the cleanliness of their habits, and the beautiful colouring of their coats. In this latter respect they are very varied; black, white, bright reddish brown, and a mixture of the three, called tortoiseshell, being the principal varieties. The latter are the most prized, particularly where the dark colours predominate.

In their native country they are generally of a pure white, with pink eyes, and it is nothing unusual to have one out of a litter white with pink eyes in this country.

Rats are supposed by many people to have a great antipathy to guinea-pigs, carefully avoiding the place where they are confined. Under this impression--which, however, is an erroneous one--they are frequently kept by fanciers in their rabbit-houses and pigeon-lofts, as a means of protecting their stock against the depredations of those rapacious vermin. They are allowed to run almost anywhere, and to shift for themselves: no attention whatever need be paid to the feeding of them, the mere refuse scattered about the floor being sufficient for their subsistence.

When, however, they are kept for amusement, their cages are generally made precisely similar to the rabbit’s hutch, only of rather smaller dimensions: their treatment, too, in most respects, is much the same as that pursued with regard to that animal. Their ordinary food should be oats given twice a day, and not too many at a time. They are also very fond of bran, which is a cheap diet; and they will fatten upon it, and keep healthy, if allowed plenty of exercise. Green meat should also form a portion of their usual diet, particularly the wild sorts, such as dandelions, sowthistle, plantain, &c.; tea-leaves they are remarkably fond of, but these should only be given them now and then by way of a treat; bread, also, they are very partial to, dipped in milk or water.

They are sold by all bird-fanciers; the prices varying from sixpence to half-a-crown, according to their age, colour, &c.: as before remarked, the dark rich-coloured tortoiseshell ones are considered the most valuable.

THE HEDGEHOG.

This, though a rough and prickly customer to handle, is a clean little animal, and a great pet with country boys. If you have ever seen one--and they are commonly sold at the shops kept by men who call themselves bird-fanciers, or even hawked about the streets of London by countrymen--if you have seen one, you are aware that, saving the belly, they are covered with sharp spikes, and that when alarmed, or whenever they please, they have the power of rolling themselves up into a tight round ball, which shows nothing but spikes, and may be rolled along, like a cricket-ball, without causing the little animal to uncoil itself, while every spike is firm and erect as a needle, and almost as sharp. While in this shape very few dogs can worry the hedgehog; and as for the fox, who is rather partial to him, true to his wily nature, he rolls the poor hedgehog along with his paws until he comes to a pool of water, when the hedgehog unrolls himself, exclaiming, no doubt, “Hey! why, what’s this? I can’t breathe!” and trying to peep about and see what’s the matter, the fox, on the look-out, seizes him by the belly, and eats him all up, saving the spines. Were you to thrust a dozen pins with large heads through a piece of parchment, you would have an exact representation of the spines of the hedgehog, every one of which is retained inside the skin by the large pin-like head.

Some say that it sucks the cows, and draws off their milk; but this is absurd, as its mouth is not adapted for sucking. Its favourite food are insects and snails: it also feeds on frogs and mice, and will even kill a snake, and eat it all up, beginning at the tail. The way it kills a snake is very curious. It gives the snake a bite on the back, then rolls itself up like a ball, remaining still as a stone for some time, while the snake lashes and writhes about in agony; as soon as the snake is a little quiet the hedgehog gives him another sharp bite on the spine, and so continues until the snake is killed; then he begins at the tail, as the Rev. J. G. Wood tells us in his “Illustrated Natural History,” and eats him up “as one would a radish.” In a natural state it sleeps all the winter, rolled up in a hole which it has filled with grass, moss, or leaves; and when domesticated, it will hide itself in some dark corner for weeks, and never once make its appearance, unless it chances to awake and feel hungry; then some day you will see it come creeping towards the fire, and be very glad to see it too. Hedgehogs are great destroyers of beetles, eating them up as quickly as you would a handful of raisins, and seeming fond of them. They need no looking after at all, but will take care of themselves, though it is as well to have a little hutch to put them into now and then. Their feeding-time is in the night; and if there are black-beetles in the kitchen, the best plan is to leave the hedgehog there, and let him devour all he can catch. They have four or five young ones at a litter, which are born blind. It is no uncommon sight to see a countryman with both old and young ones to sell. You can buy a young hedgehog for sixpence, and an old one for a shilling, or less than that even. We know of no animal that is less trouble to keep, and in time it becomes so tame as to come out of its hiding-place when called.

THE JACKDAW.

To procure a raven, an order to a dealer is almost necessary; but every boy should be ashamed if he cannot catch a young jackdaw for himself. These quaint birds make their nests in all kinds of places, especially affecting old buildings, such as church towers, ruins, or colleges. There is hardly an ancient church throughout the kingdom where a basketful of young jackdaws could not be obtained within half an hour, and old ruins positively swarm with them. It is curious to see how birds of such different habits as jackdaws, owls, pigeons, and starlings will roost amicably in the same locality, not appearing to have the least distrust of each other, or making half the fuss about their dwelling-places that is created nightly by the sparrows when settling to rest.

Failing ruins and towers, he will take possession of deserted rook-nests; and in cases of great distress, when the country is wide, where men will not build towers, where rooks and crows will not build nests, he is forced to fly for succour to the sea-shore and the warren, and make his home with the gannets and the rabbits.

Many a person has been surprised, on looking into a deserted rabbit burrow, to find it choked up with a strange mass of sticks and twigs, and still more surprised when he has brought to view a couple of jackdaw’s eggs, or hears the hungry cries of the young birds. This seeming alliance of the rabbit and the jackdaw is not unique, for it is observed in the Coquimbo owl, or burrowing owl, as it is sometimes called, and the prairie dog of North America, both of which reside within the same warren, and seem perfectly satisfied with each other’s company.

The sea-birds, too, receive the jackdaw into alliance, and whole colonies of these grey-hooded birds may be seen hovering about the lofty cliffs that bound our coasts, crying “Jack! Jack!” in inharmonious chorus with the sea-birds’ wail.

Sometimes a young and too artless bird leaves its nest before it is rightly able to use its wings, and is unable to ascend to the summit of the cliffs, flapping idly about the shore, driven nearer and nearer to the rocks by the advancing tide. The whole colony is roused by the misfortune. They wheel about in the air over the unfortunate bird with cries of distress; they do their best to encourage it to ascend; but their endeavours are all in vain. Time after time it aims at gaining the summit of the cliff, but strikes against the rock, and falls again to the sands.

In some spots it contrives to gain an elevated perch, and then waits the ebb of the tide; but in those places where the rocks afford no resting-place within a moderate distance of the water’s edge the fate of the poor bird is sealed.

Jackdaws are very easily tamed, and become very talkative, after their fashion. Their vocabulary is, however, limited, and is mostly restricted to the word “Jack,” which is uttered on every imaginable occasion. If the bird sees its master coming, it calls “Jack!” in order to express its joy; if it does not see him, it calls “Jack!” in order to induce him to come. If it hears a strange noise, it uses the same remark by way of giving notice; and if it hears its own name, it thinks itself bound to repeat the word as a polite recognition.

It is a very vigilant bird, and is quite as useful as a watch-dog to those who wish to gain early intelligence of strange visitors. It is not nearly so mischievous as many of its compeers, but sits for the greater part of the day on some chosen perch, and thence surveys the objects around. A passing bee or beetle, however, immediately arouses its energies: it pounces on them with unfailing certainty, batters them to a shapeless pulp against a stone, and swallows them leisurely. It will also catch mice, kill them by severe blows of the beak upon the head, pull them to pieces, and eat them systematically, rejecting the skin as indigestible and unsavoury.

As a general rule, it should be left out of the way of water; for it is a positive slave to the bath, and would bathe so frequently that it would not even give itself time to become dry. It may be fed on bread and milk, oats, mice, small birds, insects, meat, or, indeed, upon almost anything that can be eaten by the rapacious or frugivorous birds. It is of an affectionate nature, and will attach itself firmly to those who extend their sympathy towards it.

THE JAY.

The jay is a truly handsome bird, and will bear comparison with any of the exotic species of the same genus. Although it does not possess the exuberance of plumage nor the vivid brilliancy of colour that distinguish many of the jays which inhabit the hotter parts of the world, there is great beauty in the softly-toned hues of the general plumage and the boldly-contrasted bars of azure and black upon the wings. The moveable crest upon the head imparts a wonderful intelligence to the expression, and when the bird ruffles up and displays these ornamental plumes, a fresh charm is added to its appearance.

The jay is not nearly so common a pet as the magpie or jackdaw, probably because it is a rare bird, and seems yearly to be diminishing in numbers. It is not so impatient of captivity as the magpie, and will bear confinement in a large cage with tolerable hardiness.

In its native state the jay seems to be rather more of a vegetarian than the previously mentioned examples of the corvine birds. Still it will eat meat, small birds, mice, insects, worms, &c., and has been known to attack and devastate the nests of the thrush and other birds, and devour the half-fledged young. But if any proprietor of a jay is desirous of giving his pet an especial treat, he should supply him with a fresh egg. Any egg will answer the purpose, but if the jay seems to have a preference, the gaily-coloured egg of the thrush, perhaps, is most attractive.

Like the magpie, he will soon learn to talk, and displays powers of imitation scarcely, if at all, inferior to those enjoyed by that lively bird. Even such sounds as the lowing of cattle, the grunting of pigs, the bleating of sheep, or the neighing of horses, are reproduced with marvellous fidelity by the jay, although its ordinary note is a soft and rather pleasing cry.

THE MAGPIE.

But what are we to say of the magpie, the very Mercury of the feathered tribes,--light, active, eloquent, and the most accomplished thief in the world? He wears all his bad qualities in the face, is not the least of a hypocrite, and carries off his delinquencies with so impudent an air that no one can help admiring him, however they may object to his principles.

Not being so plentiful in England as the jackdaw, and building his nest on the summits of lofty trees, he is not so readily procured as that bird. He is, however, so extremely amusing in his manners, that most persons would rather expend a little more money in procuring a healthy magpie than give a much less sum for the more phlegmatic jackdaw. His mischievous propensities are proverbial, and anybody who keeps one of these birds must be prepared for the commission of every imaginable delinquency. Nor must he blame the bird if it should happen to steal his watch-chain, peck a hole through his best boots, fill his bed with sticks and pebbles, upset his ink-bottle, tear his papers, put his kid gloves into the dirtiest procurable puddle, or play practical jokes of a similar kind; he has only himself to thank for his carelessness in allowing it access to his domains.

But if he makes up his mind that under such provoking circumstances the blame rests with himself, and that he will not be angry with the bird for following the dictates of its instinct, he will find his magpie a most entertaining companion, as full of odd tricks as a monkey, and as playful as a kitten. It requires very little attention, and provided that he be regularly fed, and furnished with a shelter in case of inclement weather, he will live to a venerable old age.

The fertility of invention that characterises a magpie’s mind is perfectly astonishing, and the anecdotes that are related by every one who has watched his habits are as varied as they are wonderful. There is an amount of self-reliance in the creature which betrays itself in every gesture, as well as in the knowing twist of the head; and the triumphant “carrack” that accompanies a successful piece of mischief and the impudent flirt of the tail afford unmistakeable evidence of the bird’s true character.

None of the corvine birds should be kept in cages. The jackdaw perhaps suffers least from such captivity, and the magpie perhaps the most. It has such a restless nature, that it is ever on the move, and if confined, in a cage, may be seen hopping from perch to floor, and from floor to perch, in miserable monotony of movement. Moreover, his beautiful tail always suffers severely from contact with the bars of the cage; and even if it is not rubbed down to a mere stump, as is frequently the case, it is always rendered ragged and disreputable at the tip.

As a general fact, the ordinary wicker cages are of small use. A lively, active magpie, with all its senses developed, will make little of such a cage. Sometimes he will direct his attention to the door, and never rest until he has pulled it off the hinges. Sometimes he will set deliberately to work, and peck so fiercely and continuously at the bars, that he will break them away in splinters, and make his way out. However, the best plan is to avoid cages; or if the bird really must be placed in confinement, let the cage be roomy, and made of wire.

Perhaps the chief charm of the magpie is his great capability for learning to talk, and his exceeding readiness to display that accomplishment. Some individuals are more eloquent than others, have a clearer articulation and a better memory,--just as is the case among human beings. But though all magpies may not be peculiarly excellent in their powers of conversation, they can all be taught to talk after a fashion, and are seldom chary of exhibiting their powers.

A magpie has been known to imitate the human voice so perfectly that he has induced his dupe to answer his queries, believing them to have been made by the lad whose peculiar voice was so well simulated. Very little trouble is needful to teach a magpie to talk, for his imitative instincts are very largely developed, and he is sure to reproduce with marvellous fidelity the various sounds which he may hear. He can bark like a dog, mew like a cat, cry like a child, scream like a costermonger, and occasionally swear like a trooper. But he means no harm, and may be pardoned for the unrefined language he is sometimes in the habit of using.

Magpies require plenty of water--not so much for drinking, although they are always thirsty birds, but for washing. They are extremely fond of bathing, and a plentiful supply of water is needful to keep their beautiful plumage in proper condition. The food of the magpie is the same as that of the jackdaw.

OWLS.

There are worse pets to be found than owls. They are not so immediately engaging as many creatures that have already been mentioned, but by proper management they can be made into very companionable birds, quaint, grotesque, and affectionate withal.

The chief drawback to the owl as a pet is its nocturnal habits, which cause the bird to sleep during the day and to be awake during the night. To a certain degree this custom may be corrected. The chief reason why the owl wakes at night is, that it preys upon mice and other nocturnal creatures, whether mammals or insects, and must in consequence be able to pounce upon them as they rove abroad.

Now, although at first to wake the owl will be found rather a tedious business, and to keep it awake still more difficult, a present of a mouse, or a small bird, or a large beetle, will generally rouse it, and cause it to remain awake for some little time.

To change the creature into a wholly diurnal bird is impossible, inasmuch as the entire bodily structure, as well as the temperament, is that of a nocturnal being. The eyes, for example, are formed for vision in a very dim light, being of very great size, and with pupils so large that the ordinary light of day is painful to the bird, and dazzles it so much that it cannot see sufficiently to direct its flight. Exceptional cases have occurred, in which owls have been seen abroad in the daytime, and been observed in the act of catching mice at mid-day; but such an event occurs very seldom.

Even when the bird is placed in a comparatively dark room, where the rays of the sun cannot beat upon it, the eyes are continually blinking as long as they are open, and the large nictitating membrane is ever and anon drawn over them. It may here be mentioned that the nictitating membrane is a kind of inner eyelid, made of very elastic membrane, which is gathered up in one corner of the socket, can be drawn over the eye by means of special muscles, and returns by its own elasticity when the tension is removed. It is peculiarly strong in birds of prey, and the best examples of this curious structure are to be found in the owls.

In general, the owl sits, or rather stands, during the daytime, fast asleep, having a very quaint aspect, the eyes being reduced to a mere pair of lines, sloping towards the bill, and surrounded by the round discs of stiff feathers which form a “splayed” window in the dense plumage, and allow the bird a wider scope of vision than it would enjoy if the aperture in the feathers were no larger than the eye itself. Altogether the bird looks wonderfully like a Chinese mandarin of very high rank, and consequently of great obesity; the sloping linear eyelids being just as oblique as those of the Chinamen, and the two feather discs representing the huge round spectacles with which the Chinese are accustomed to aid their vision.

The position of the owl when at rest is rather curious. Instead of sitting with its head reposing on the shoulder, its legs bent, and its claws firmly grasping the perch, the bird stands stiffly upright, with its legs perfectly straight and its head upright. Here we ought to mention the popular error that birds sleep with their heads under their wings. Not only is this mistake impressed upon the young, and fostered by such familiar nursery-rhymes as that of “The north wind doth blow,” but it is in force even among educated persons, who have learned to observe as well as to think. In a recent controversy about fresh air and human lungs some of the advocates for stuffiness and closed windows employed as an argument the imagined fact that, when birds go to sleep, they exclude fresh air by tucking their heads under their wings. The force of their arguments and the accuracy of their facts were about on a par. Many birds compose themselves to sleep, but no one ever yet saw a bird put its head under its wing when going to roost. The real process is simple enough, as any one can prove who will take the trouble to watch a parrot or canary. The bird first settles itself in a comfortable attitude, which varies according to the species, and then turns its head round, and puts its beak among the loose feathers of the shoulder, the wings being kept closed and held firmly against the body.

Owls may be procured in various methods. If the reader should happen to possess proper premises, he will find that to attract owls will be as easy as to buy them, and will give him better opportunities of studying their habits. All that is required is the command of a retired spot, where the birds will not be annoyed. A little ingenuity and the expenditure of a few shillings will do the rest.

It is impossible to have a better or more complete plan of attracting the owls than that which is employed by Mr. Waterton at Walton Hall. He can, and does, attract all kinds of birds to his domain by the simple plan of affording them a secure shelter and the prospect of food. In the case of the owls the first precaution is the only one that is needful, the birds being perfectly capable of finding food for themselves. Possibly a few mice thrown on the ground might assist in attracting the birds; but as they will come when no such precaution is taken, such bait may be omitted.

There is a popular idea that neither the lion, the eagle, or the owl will eat game which they have not killed. Nothing can be more opposed to fact than such a notion: for the lion is generally killed by laying in his haunts a dead animal, which he is sure to eat; the eagle is only too glad to pick up a dead lamb; and the owl will carry off almost any number of dead mice that are placed in its way.

If the reader wishes to attract owls to his premises, he must prepare habitations for them. Knowing that the common barn owl, or white owl, as it is sometimes called, is fond of resting in buildings, Mr. Waterton has taken great pains to erect certain domiciles of which the owls are likely to approve. A large hole made in an old ruin is sure to attract the barn owl, especially if it be well sheltered with ivy, and a stout perch across the cavity may be useful. There are owl-houses in different parts of the domain, all tenanted by some bird, and most of them by the inhabitant for whose use they were made.

The jackdaw is the most pertinacious usurper that can be imagined. Any house that will suit an owl will suit a jackdaw, and the daw is so keen at discovery and so quick at utilizing his faculties, that he takes possession, and fills the hole with sticks, before the owls have a chance of securing their home.

If the brown owl is wanted, there are few places like a hollow tree, an article which can often be purchased very cheaply, set up in the grounds, and its interior arranged for the reception of the birds.

A writer in the _Field_ newspaper has mentioned that he has been very successful in attracting the brown owl by means of an empty eighteen-gallon cask, made very clean, and fastened in a tree. A perch was placed inside, a convenient entrance-hole cut, and a quantity of very dry touchwood placed within. On this touchwood much of the success seemed to depend, for wherever it was omitted the owls declined to take possession of the cask. In order to fit it for its purpose, it was carefully dried in an oven. The exterior of the cask was painted so as to harmonize with the colours of the tree.

Should the reader be unable to fit up such a residence, he may always purchase young owls at a cheap rate, and can train them after his own fashion. In order to show how much amusement may be given by so despised a bird as the owl, the following extract from a private letter is interesting:--

“I saw a curious sight yesterday, which I think quite worth communicating to you. Some folks about us have got a young owl just fledged, and one of the boys had given him for his supper a dead swift, rather high and gamey. While he was enjoying this dainty, a young tabby kitten, æt. about eight weeks, came on the scene, and walking up to the owl, deliberately invited herself to a share in the repast. Mr. Owl did not express any objection, save by expanding his wings over his food, _more suo_, whereupon pussy crept under the outstretched wing, and went in for her share. It was droll enough to see the two going halves, especially as every now and then the owl got pussy’s ear by mistake, and she in like manner began gnawing at his claw.

“But the scene reached its climax by the appearance of five young ducklings hatched on Thursday last” (the date of the letter shows that it was written on Friday, and consequently that the ducklings in question were just eight days old), “who surrounded the group, and did what they could to help. The smell of the dead bird attracted, as I suppose, many small flies, which hovered about and settled, now on the owl, now on the cat, and now on the unfortunate swift. They had better have stayed away, however, for the ducklings snapped them up as fast as they alighted, while both the owl and the cat seemed quite to disregard the pokes and pecks which their bodies received from the sturdy bills of the ducklings.”

If the reader should keep owls in confinement, where they cannot procure food for themselves, he must remember that they are hungry beings, and give them plenty of food. They will eat almost any kind of meat, but are very fond of mice and small birds, the latter of which they will mostly contrive to swallow entire. There is no doubt that all the British owls feed upon small birds when they can procure them. They have been observed in the act of robbing the nests, in spite of the screams and attacks of the angry parents, and the skulls, feathers, and bones of the murdered birds have been seen in the pellets which all owls disgorge.

In common with most raptorial birds, the owls disgorge the indigestible parts of their food, such as the bones, the feathers, and the skin; and as the owl eats its prey entire, the amount of such substances is remarkable. They are formed into egg-shaped masses, and may be found in plenty in the nest or on the ground near the nest. In some parts of the country these castings are called “quids.” When they are first ejected, they are wet and rather tenacious; but they rapidly become dry, and can then be crumbled down into a soft flock-like substance, which forms the bed on which the eggs repose.

These eggs can easily be recognised by their peculiar shape and texture. In form they are very globular, their shells are very thin, and the surface is rough and chalk-like, as if some one had ground a piece of chalk into coarse powder, mixed it with gum, and painted the egg with the mixture. Any one who is experienced in such matters knows an owl’s egg as soon as he handles it, even though he cannot see the object which he touches.

Their method of eating mice is very curious, and that the owl should derive any gratification from the process seems to be rather remarkable. The owl catches the mouse with its foot--a member that is wonderfully fitted for the purpose--and then shifts the mouse to its beak; in this respect differing from the hawks, which hold the prey with the foot, and only use the beak for the purpose of tearing it to pieces. At the Zoological Gardens the falcons may be seen at feeding-time with the meat in their claws, never taking it in the beak when they move, but hobbling about with a lump of raw meat hanging to one foot, and presenting a very absurd spectacle.

When the owl has settled itself into a comfortable position, it gives a kind of snap and a gulp, and in a moment the head of the mouse is in its throat. Another gulp and a shake of the head, and the mouse has disappeared, with the exception of the tail, which hangs on one side of the beak. This part of the process seems to afford the owl the greatest satisfaction, for the bird remains for some time in this attitude, standing perfectly still, but giving the tail an occasional roll in the beak. Suddenly the head goes back with a jerk, the eyes close, there is a mighty gulp, and the tail has followed the mouse into the bird’s stomach. The whole process of swallowing the prey is very much like that which may be observed in the toad, the gulping effort to swallow appearing to be equally great in either case.

All owls can be treated in a similar manner, so that there is no need of mentioning them individually. If, however, either of the eared owls can be obtained, the young naturalist should not fail to do so. Owls kept in captivity should not be placed in cages, provided that other accommodation can be furnished, but should have a dark recess in which they can sit during the day, and where they can always be found. They are not easily seen by inexperienced eyes, as they have a habit of choosing perches in spots where their colour harmonizes with that of the locality. When properly treated, the owl can be made quite tame; but unless it be taken when young, it is rather uncertain in temper, biting very sharply. If any one approaches the owl, and hears a quick, snapping sound, as if an elastic piece of wood were “flicked” against a table, he may take it as a warning that the bird does not approve of him, and that he had better not trust his hands too near the owl.

Any one can see how cat-like are the owls in their general physiognomy, as well as in their nocturnal and mouse-loving habits; and they even carry their feline propensities into peculiarities of diet. No animals are less aquatic than the cat, and yet none are more fond of fish. Even the best bred and most carefully-trained cat finds a difficulty in resisting her appetite when she sees fish on the table, and she can hardly have a greater treat than an occasional sprat, herring, or plaice. Angler-cats are not uncommon: several that were accustomed to haunt the water side have been known to catch the fish in shallow water, and would even plunge into deep water for their prey. In like manner the owl is a great fish-lover, and has been seen in the act of dropping into the water, and rising again in the air with a fish in its claws. Now it is an invariable rule with animals of all kinds, that these little aberrations, if we may so term them, are conducive to health: a very familiar instance is the occasional grass-eating propensities of the dog and cat. The young naturalist will therefore consult the health of his owl pets by giving them a fish now and then, as well as a few large insects, in addition to their ordinary diet.

THE PARROT.

Among the vast multitude of birds which inhabit all parts of the earth, or even among the many species which are found in our own country, it is no easy matter to make a first choice. We will, however, commence with the parrot; and before proceeding to describe the several species which are generally in vogue among English fanciers, we may remark that the parrots, paroquets, macaws, and cockatoos are found in almost every warm portion of the globe. Many of the largest and most magnificent species inhabit South America, while Australia is remarkable for possessing several examples of this beautiful group of bird that are most interesting to the young naturalist on account of their form, colour, and habits.

One species, the Long-billed Parrot, or Nestor, scientifically called _Nestor productus_, is now, as is feared, totally extinct, the last known specimen having been shot some years ago. This curious bird was notable for a wonderfully long upper mandible, very like a pickaxe in shape, and employed in much the same service, being used for digging out of the ground the roots and other vegetable substances on which the bird was accustomed to feed. It is rather remarkable that, although this strange land is very rich in the parrot tribe, none of them except the cockatoo can be taught to speak, being apparently incapable of any imitation of the human voice, and rarely uttering any sound except a scream or a chuckle. Asia also possesses some very elegant species.

All the birds belonging to this tribe are furnished with rather big heads, very large and curved beaks, with the upper mandible hooked well over the lower, which is short and stout; and their toes are so formed that they are divided into two opposable sets, so as to permit the bird to grasp an object in its claws almost as if they were hands. In climbing, an exercise of which the parrots are very fond, the young naturalist will probably observe that the bird makes nearly as much use of its beak as of its feet; and even when tame and accustomed to perch on the hand of its owner, it aids itself in its movements by taking hold of the fingers with its beak, although too gently to cause any injury.

The species which is most celebrated for talking is the Grey Parrot, a well-known bird, living, when wild, in Western Africa, and being at once identified by its grey plumage and short red tail. There are several modes of obtaining this bird, such as requesting a naval friend to bring one home on his return, or going and fetching one for yourself. But as there are few who are so happy as to have an accommodating nautical friend or relative, and still fewer who are able to undergo the perils and hardships of a sea voyage, the best way is to go to a respectable dealer, and give him an order for a young healthy bird. We say a young bird, because the purchaser will then be able to teach it every word that it speaks, and will find his feathered pet become far more familiar than if it entered his possession when aged and with fixed habits. Moreover, an older bird is very apt to pick up all kinds of phrases employed by the sailors on board the ship in which it made its voyage; and although such a vocabulary excites no particular surprise at sea, it is rather too forcible and idiomatic for society.

The worst of the matter is, that the parrot is possessed of an iron memory, and never seems to forget anything it has once learned, however its acquirements may have been overlaid with fresh teachings. It has often happened that a parrot which has behaved for a long time in the most exemplary manner, and employed none but the most refined language, has suddenly met with a sound which recalled all its old associations, and induced the bird to pour forth a copious volley of language too loud to be disregarded, and too plain to be misunderstood.

And parrots are just like children in their propensities for saying the most dreadful things exactly at the most inconvenient times and to the most fastidious persons, always choosing a dead silence for making some deeply reprehensible remark, and invariably addressing their observations to some lady or some staid ecclesiastical dignitary.

Parrots are marvellously nervous birds, and while young will often throw themselves into such paroxysms of fear at the mere sight of a stranger, that they will even endanger their lives. They have an odd and unpleasant habit of scolding on such occasions, uttering loud, rough, grating cries, as piercing to the ear as the sound of a file or a saw, and stretching out their necks with ruffled feathers and agitated gestures. Some birds retain this extreme timidity for a very long time, in spite of all attempts to conciliate them.

As the management of the different species is nearly, if not quite, identical, it is unnecessary to trouble the reader with a detailed description of each kind of parrot and the mode of treating it; it will be sufficient to tell him how to manage these birds generally, and give a brief account of the country, form, and colour of those species which are most commonly brought to this country. There are, indeed, so many, that it is impossible to mention more than five or six sorts; but if the reader desires to learn more about the parrot tribe, let him refer to the Rev. J. G. Wood’s “Illustrated Natural History,” vol. ii., where he will find the subject treated at length, and with large figures of all the most remarkable species.

The Amazon, or Green Parrot, is so called from its colour, which is mostly bright green, with some yellow and purple tints here and there. This species is brought to England under the title of the Green Parrot, the second species being more properly called the Festive Parrot. It is much larger than the common species, being about fifteen or sixteen inches in length, and having the feathers of the lower part of the back of a deep vermilion.

Teaching this bird to talk is by no means a difficult task,--not nearly so difficult, indeed, as hindering it from learning accomplishments which it is not desired to possess, or inducing it to refrain from producing objectionable sounds, whether articulate or otherwise.

In order to teach the parrot to imitate sounds, the best and simplest mode is to take the bird into a perfectly quiet room, where it can hear and see no one but the instructor, and will not have its attention distracted by surrounding objects.

Then, after taking every care to render the feathered pet familiar, speak the words, or produce the sounds, which the bird is required to imitate, and be careful to avoid varying them even by the fraction of a tone. You will soon see the pupil taking notice of the oft-repeated sound, and it will presently hold its head aside, as if to catch the tones more clearly. After a while it will try to imitate them, and as soon as it makes an attempt, however imperfect, make much of the bird, and give it a small morsel of some special dainty.

Parrots are largely gifted with the faculty called by phrenologists “love of praise,” and are in no slight degree incited by self-esteem; so that it is possible to induce the bird to perform the oddest feats by carefully working on these two propensities. They have an almost morbid love of being noticed, and crave for words of praise with as much appreciation as if they could understand their import. You can throw one parrot into a very passion of jealousy by pretending not to hear it, and talking to another bird.

One difficulty in the management of these birds is, that when you have taught them to exercise their powers of imitation, they are apt to pick up a kind of chance-medley of every sound they hear, instead of adhering to one lesson and learning it thoroughly before they begin another. Breaking them of the habit is a difficult task, but can be achieved with ordinary care.