244 Bird - Lore 



he would run part way to meet me, and stand out in the open in a defiant attitude 

 while I snapped him. 



During the course of this fracas, the young had one by one crawled out of the 

 nest and into the shade of the thicket, — all but one which was more puny than the 

 rest, and could not get up out of the rather deep cup. It was fortune for me that 

 this was so, for the brave little father was as ready to incur danger for one as for 

 all. His fine example at length seemed to inspire his mate, for she began to grow 

 more threatening in her advances, and she even came out in front of the nest, 

 where I secured just one snap-shot of her standing on a low, flat rock. 



Having now used up a couple of boxes of plates and secured pictures of about 

 every possible position, I thought I would see what they would do if I actually 

 handled the young. So I started to lay hold of the chick in the nest. But no sooner 

 had I touched him than like a whirlwind, with shrieks of rage and despair, both 

 Thrashers precipitated themselves upon me. Seizing my fingers with their claws, 

 they hung on, scratching like badgers, nipping my hand here and there with their 

 sharp bills, and beating it furiously with their wings. Then they darted off into 

 the thicket, and again and again I touched the young one, with the same result. 

 The whole performance so interested me that I felt no injury from their attack. 

 When I bethought myself to look at my hand, I saw that it was dotted with little 

 drops of blood, where they had scratched or bitten through the skin. Then I 

 wrapped a handkerchief around as armor and let them try their strength on that. 

 If I put my foot near the nest, they went for that in the same vindictive fashion. 



My only lack was of an assistant, to photograph the birds in the act of attack- 

 ing me. It was too late to secure one that afternoon. The next day I would have 

 brought my son, but the rain poured down unceasingly, and on the following day 

 the thrashing Thrashers and their offspring had retired from the bloody field of 

 the hard-fought battle and the glorious victory. No doubt they believed that they 

 had worsted and routed a man, and henceforth and forever Thrasher art, ballad 

 and literature will, of course, prate of arms and of the man who, on a memorable 

 day, baffled and beaten, backward reeled from some stubborn birds and a barren 

 field. As for the man in the case, he no longer doubts the Thrasher prowess, and, 

 even while nursing his sore hand, took pleasure in describing to interested audi- 

 tors his rather unusual experience in receiving a thrashing from small but experi- 

 enced professional Thrashers. 



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