The Bird Hospital

One day Bob took a lovely china pin-tray off of my dressing-table and threw it on the floor, breaking it in many pieces. Another day I found him out in the hall with my string of gold beads, shaking them as if he thought they were an angleworm. He had bitten two beads until they were almost flat. Like many small boys, he thinks matches are about the nicest things to play with, and I often find them thrown in all directions.

Dona Marina’s kittens had been given away before they were old enough to take much notice of Blondell, but her new kittens, Blonde and Brunette, lived with the birds many weeks. Blonde was white with tortoise-shell markings, and twice as large as Brunette, who was just like her black mother.

Blonde was gentle in all of her ways, while Brunette was just the opposite. Blonde would wake me in the morning by gently tapping my cheek with her big, soft white paw. Brunette would come with a rush and land on the top of my head. I did not have the least trouble in teaching Blonde not to spring at the birds, but I had a great deal with Brunette before I could make her understand that she was not to slap them with her tiny black velvet paw.

One day I was really surprised myself when I went into the room to find Blonde sound asleep in front of Blondell’s cage on the platform, Brunette asleep in the gravel, and Bobbinette and Bobby on the perches above them. It proved they had learned their lessons well, and I never worried about them after that.

I was very anxious to get a picture of them altogether, so had the old perches brought up that had been put away so long. For a week I posed them every day. Dona Marina on “Teddy’s piazza,” Blonde in the side with the food, Brunette in the gravel, Bobbinette and Bobby on the perches, and Blondell in her usual place. It made a pretty picture, I assure you.

The photographer was very busy, and by the time he could come, it was impossible to have Dona Marina in the group, as she had weaned her babies and hated every hair in their dear little bodies. For two weeks she did nothing but growl and spit every time she saw them, besides slapping them hard if they came within her reach. Brunette would slap back, but lovable little Blonde would look at her in a sad, astonished way.

One day, when Dona Marina came in and could not find her babies, after looking all over the lower part of the house, she fairly beamed, and we never heard another growl, but it was many weeks before she went to the hospital.

One day I tried carrying her up, but she fought so hard I had to let her go. I tried again, and got her inside and put her on the bed. She smelled it all over, then simply flew out, and down-stairs she went. The next time when I got her inside, I closed the door. When she found she could not get out, she examined every corner, went under everything, and, when she finally made up her mind there were no kittens hidden away, she jumped into my lap and began to sing. She wants to be all in all to me, and is jealous of everything and everybody.

But to go back to the picture, that was a day long to be remembered. When I asked the photographer to take it, he looked at me as if he thought I had just escaped from a lunatic hospital, and said: “I can take a picture of a bird or a cat, but to take one of birds and cats together, I think it would be quite impossible.” I was determined if possible to have the picture taken, so said: “But you do not know me, my cats, or my birds.”

At last he came to please me, not expecting to get any kind of a picture. I told him to come right after luncheon, as Blonde and Brunette were sleepy at that time, but instead, it was between four and five o’clock. Bobbinette and Bob had only been used to our boy coming into the hospital, so, when two men appeared, it was quite enough to frighten the wits out of them, but their bringing all of their machines made it ten times worse. They flew here, there, and everywhere, out into the hall, back again, lighting upon my head and shoulders. It took a long time to get them quiet, but the men made as little noise as possible, and were very patient.

After Bobbinette and Bobby became a little used to them, I looked up Blonde and Brunette. They were just fresh from their nap, and wanted to do anything but mind and sit still. Several times I thought it was going to be even beyond me to get them all quiet at once.

At last it was accomplished. Bang! went the machine, vivid light, dense smoke, Bobbinette and Bobby flying in every direction and screeching as only robins can; Blonde and Brunette running all over the floor, growling, spitting, and hissing, but the deed was done. When we saw the picture, we all felt repaid for our trouble, and the birds and kittens for being so frightened. And the photographer, by the way, found after all that he could take a picture of birds and kittens together.

That was the beginning of quite a little work, which took a great deal of time, nervous strength, and patience, but with it all we derived a great deal of pleasure, and the birds seemed to thoroughly enjoy being naughty.

Just at this time a young Italian came to town, fresh from a school of photography, who had plenty of time to give to us. His kindness and patience was fully appreciated and never will be forgotten. The birds liked him, too, as he was always gentle, spoke kindly, and never a cross word did we hear, no matter how provoking they were. The group with Bobbinette and Bobby, Dick, Dona Marina, Blondell and me took two whole evenings to get.

Just as the photographer would think they were all in good position, Bobbinette would turn her back; then, when she turned around, Bobby would get down and go out into the back parlour. As no one could manage them but me, I would have to get up, taking Dick and Blondell in my left hand, Dona Marina under my left arm, and go after Bobby. Dona Marina did not care how many birds were on her back if she could lie on my lap, but Blondell was as slippery as an eel, and, when all the others were ready, off from Dona Marina’s back she would go, and I would have to get down again and go after her, holding tight to Dick and Dona Marina.

One day during summer we had a patient the like of which we had never had before. It was a wee brown puppy, but where she came from we never found out. Her coming was heralded by Dona Marina’s jumping on to her back and slapping and biting her. The birds and I rushed to the window when we heard the noise; the puppy was crying lustily, as she was too young to fight. The next thing they came tearing into the hospital, and for a few moments one would have thought the room was filled with wild animals.

For two days there was constant trouble and commotion in the hospital, and I felt if I did not find her a good home (which I did), all of my patients would have nervous prostration.

Another day the robins were very much frightened by an English sparrow coming to the hospital. If it had been a large hawk, they could not have acted worse. A man brought him, who had taken him away from a cruel boy who was just ready to give him to his cat. I looked him all over, and, when I found he was not injured in any way, I knew it would not be right to keep him. I would have liked to, as he reminded me so much of Mack. When I opened the window, he flew out, chirping loudly, and I have not a doubt he told his friends many tales of his narrow escape, about the place where he had been, and the things he had seen.

One day a little girl three years old came to visit me. As she stood in the door looking at the birds, she certainly looked like a fairy direct from Fairyland, all dressed in white, with the whitest skin, cheeks like the pinkest roses, blue eyes like wood-violets, and curls like the brightest of gold. But Bobbinette and Bobby did not appreciate the picture, for they never were more frightened in their lives, and it was hours before they became used to her.

Dona Marina always knew when it was five o’clock, and time for Bobbinette and Bobby to have their supper of cracker and milk, and she would bring Blonde and Brunette and sit down in front of me, while Bobbinette and Bobby perched on the edge of the box, and I would give them each a piece as well as the birds. Then I taught them to sit up on their haunches like little bears and eat their crackers.

Blonde would often take her piece in one paw and eat it, and Brunette would take hers in both paws and put it into her mouth, while Dona Marina would sit up very straight with her little paws bent, and look first at one kitten, then at the other in a very proud way.

Now Bobbinette and Bobby have reached the dignity of having a little doll’s table and a chair of their own. They will stand up on their chairs and eat whatever I give them off of little butter-plates. If a meal worm is served, it is as good to them as a turkey dinner is to any of us.

Bobby was much more precocious with his singing than Cady. I worked many weeks with Cady before he would make a sound, but Bob began at once and has improved every day since.

One day late in the fall I took him down just to see if he would be afraid of the piano, but he was not in the least, and began to sing very softly. I meant to have looked up some new music for him, but he was ready before I was, so I began with the same old things Cady sung, and he seemed to like them just as well as Cady did. I have added to his repertoire that pretty little waltz song, “Love Comes Like a Summer Dream,” from the old opera, “Little Tycoon,” another waltz song, “I am Going Far Away, Love,” two parts from “When the Leaves Begin to Fall,” and a sweet lullaby.

A friend, who is a professional singer, came to hear him sing. I said to her: “I want you to listen to every note and tell me honestly just what you think of him.” He sang for a half-hour, only stopping while I changed the music. When we finished, she said: “I do not know which is the most marvellous, the pupil or the teacher. He is simply wonderful, never makes one discord, keeps perfect time, and carries the air as near as possible, and the little trills he puts in are simply bewitching.”

The lullaby he sings as soft and low as I do. What kind of a singer I am going to make of Bobbinette, time alone can tell. She will sing with me a little every morning up-stairs, but only twice have I been able to get her to sing down-stairs. I bring her down every day after Bob has had his singing lesson. Although she is such a fighter, she is very timid and nervous when down-stairs if there is any one there. She usually comes down on my shoulder, and I can feel every nerve in her body quiver as I lay my cheek against her.

When Bobbinette appears, Bob knows his lesson is over and that he can do as he pleases. He will go all over both rooms, perch on anything he sees fit, sing a little in a very low voice, come and look at Bobbinette and stand beside her on the perch. I have not given up getting them to sing a duet together. When Bobbinette sings up-stairs, Bob stops short, stands on one leg, and listens to her with a look as much as to say: “What are you trying to sing for? I am the singer.”

As Bobbinette is a good listener, I still have hopes of her. She is so pretty and still keeps her baby look, and when she listens she cocks her head on one side and looks so interested, and will puff out her breast and open her bill as wide as she can. For a treat after their lesson, they have some sugar wafers. They prefer the champagne ones, as they have more chocolate in them. They get on my shoulder and take the wafer out of my mouth. Then they have milk (which they love) in a whiskey glass. Some days they have two or three Zante currants, of which they are very fond.

My mother has all of her meals served in the back parlour, and it is a great treat for Bobbinette and Bobby to have their singing lesson before luncheon, then they stay down until afterward.

They will not make friends with any one but me, but they will get as near my mother as they dare, and see what she has to eat, but will not take anything from her.

I was very much frightened the other day to see a hair sticking out of Bobbinette’s bill. I was more frightened when I pulled out an eighth of a yard and could get no more, as it seemed to be wound around the lower part of her tongue. It was rather a difficult task to hold the bird, take a magnifying glass, and open the bill and look down. After a half-hour’s work at the hair, gently pulling it from side to side, it became loose and came out. The next day Bob came to me holding one leg up. As I looked at him, I thought he in some way had gotten a rubber band around his leg. You can imagine my surprise, when I took him in my hand, to find, instead of a rubber band, his hind claw was wound around his leg and caught with the nail. How it ever got that way, I have not the least idea.

As I entered my room the other afternoon, I saw a picture that any artist might have been proud to paint. Dona Marina was lying stretched out full length on the foot of my bed, with her new baby kittens, Scozza and Fava, lying beside her; all were in Dreamland. On the brass rod at the foot perched Bobbinette and Bobby, the latter singing at the top of his voice, while Bobbinette listened.

I feel sure if John Burroughs knew my birds, he would change his mind about birds not thinking and reasoning.

Many people know birds and their habits in a wild state, but really know nothing of them as pets in the house.

I am told Mr. Burroughs does not advocate domesticating wild birds; neither do I, if they are old, well, and strong, but, on the contrary, if they are injured, and are only easy prey for small boys and cats, I firmly believe in taking them in and making them happy, which I think I have always succeeded in doing.

I have often taken birds in, expecting to let them go when they were large enough, but they simply would not, for they knew they would not know how to take care of themselves or hunt their food. For instance, if I had not brought Bobbinette and Bobby in, they would have been killed, and it would be very cruel to turn them out now after the luxurious lives they have lived for eleven months; besides, they are perfectly well, and happy as the day is long, and know no other life.

My pets are a great care, but the pleasure I receive from them more than recompenses me. I only hope you will all be so interested in my little sketches that you will “cry for more,” and then I shall be able to stop your crying.

THE END