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Mr. Aubyn Trevor-Battye,



Indeed, there are races of the same bird in almost every country of

the Old World. All these races are very much alike—blue, with

two black bars across the wings, and a black bar on the tail; but

whereas our bird has white feathers above the tail, this character

becomes less distinct as we go East, until, in Lower India, it is

lost altogether. From their rocky abodes these birds have spread

to cities; they are equally at home about St. Paul’s Cathedral,

St. Mark’s in Venice, San Sophia in Constantinople, or the mosques

of Delhi, but, as cave-dwellers by origin, have never really taken

to the habit of perching in trees. Although so common, “Blue

Kocks” are birds of great interest because they are the ancestors

of all domestic pigeons. Just as all breeds of poultry are sprung

from jungle-fowl (and this is why poultry do so well in a wood),

so each variety of fancy pigeon—Pouter, Fantail, or what not—is a

development from the Blue Kock-pigeon.


Now, excepting under the specialised form known as

“homers,” the birds are not very often found in dove-cotes; fancy

pigeons are more popular, and, further, although Blue Pocks adapt

themselves to a half-wild life in the towns, where parapets of

buildings supply the place of ledges in caves, they are not very

■easy to establish in the ordinary dove-cote. The only place, indeed,

in our neighbourhood in which the writer happens to know for

• certain that they have been strongly established is Adhurst St. Mary.

We were therefore overjoyed when Miss Mary Bonham-Carter

(whose life was kindnesses) presented us with three little pigeons.

Two had just reached the “squeaker” stage, one was barely out

■ of “ squabhood,” and though it lived to become the pet of the

schoolroom, it signalised its first day of liberty by fatally falling

down a chimney. The other two—they proved to be a pair—grew

up quite happily in the dove-cote. Unfortunately, just about the

time when they had their first nest, they were ejected by a pair

•of Barn Owls. There was no excuse for the owls; out of several

boxes up in the trees they had chosen the one they liked best, in

this they had reared at least one family, and they could not wish for

Letter quarters. ^luch as we love our owls we did not want them

in the dove-cote; however, in they went, there they are still, and

.there, it seems, they propose to remain. It mattered little to the



