Notes from the Scamps/o?i Aviaries. 61


are, as I believe, both females. I have not found them difficult

to manage, they generally run with the Little Bustards, and live

as they do. They are particularly fond of cooked vegetables,

celery, all ‘greens,’ seakale and peas; also they greedily swallow

mice, after beating them against the ground. No doubt, in a

wild state, locusts and small lizards would be important articles

of their diet.


My birds are rather sluggish, and spend much of their time

in fine weather basking in the sun. But, of course, in captivity

they are spared the necessity of searching for food. It is a pretty

sight to see the Houbaras, Little Bustards and Australian Tliick-

uees—eight birds in all—run to the shed when shutting up time

comes in the evening, each bird turning into its proper com¬

partment, and in this way giving very little trouble and showing

considerable intelligence.


#


The Australian Thicknee.


A bigger bird in every way than the European species, and

proportionately longer on the leg, it has a general resemblance in

plumage to our bird, with the same beautiful prominent eye, but

has not the handsome yellow cere of the Norfolk Plover. I

have found that they bear a considerable amount of cold, but

they must be protected as much as possible from exposure to

rain or damp ground, which last they never frequent in the wild

state. Like the Bustards, they revel in sunshine, and spend

much time basking; but, unlike the Bustards and like their other

allies the Plovers, they are fond of bathing. A look at a Thick-

nees’ eye will lead anybody to guess that the bird is largely

nocturnal, which is the case. At sunset, when left out all night,

my birds range all over their enclosure, every now and then

stooping to pick up some wandering insect, and, like the Cranes,

they give a good deal of attention to the high wire fence which

separates the different enclosures, and for the same purpose. If

they hear a Dor-beetle strike the wires, which frequently happens

on a summer’s evening, they hurry up, and the clumsy insect

before he can recover the use of his wings is seized and, after a

few vigorous blows on the ground, is swallowed. The plaintive

wailing whistle reminds one of the cry of our bird, which may

be heard at best on parts of Salisbury Plain and in its other



