rearing of hybrid Hyphantornis cucullatus x H spilonotus. 29


Whatever the cause may have been, nestful by nestful, tbe

poor babies faded away until, on going into the aviary one morning,

I was horrified to hear faint squeaks proceeding from only two of tbe

nests and the callous parents (three of them, for the cock was the

same in each case) turning deaf ears to the wails of their offspring'.

Obviously something must be done. I provided myself with a hat-

box, placed in it two hot-water bottles, covered these with several

layers of flannel and then proceeded gingerly to extract the young

weavers from their domiciles. This sounds a comparatively simple

performance, but, as one who has tried it, I may say it is nothing

of the sort. Inside and across the funnel-shaped entrance to the

nest (up which one has to worm a finger and thumb, and mine were

barely long enough for the job) tbe parent birds build a strong

barrier of woven grasses to prevent the eggs or young from falling

out. One has to surmount this, seize the young bird, haul it over

tbe barrier and guide its small body (which feels like hot jelly !)

down the little funnel ; no easy task with a tender, naked little

creature already exhausted by lack of food, and which one half fears

to touch. However, the operation was successfully carried out and

Squeaks and a still younger cousin from the next nest, dreadfully

feeble and pitiful, were safely deposited on their warm flannel. A

couple of fresh, squashed ants’ eggs were hastily thrust down their

gaping throats, (on the end of a match) they were cosily covered up

with more heated flannel and conveyed to my bedroom.


Then began an exceedingly strenuous time for me. The

second poor little bird died tbe next day—it never really recovered—

but Squeaks, after his first ant-egg, never looked back. At 4 a.m.

his first feeble chirp was heard (or at least heard by me, my alarm

clock being set for that unholy hour) and I leapt up to heat his hot-

water bottles over the Primus, for he was always dreadfully chilly

at that hour and could hardly be persuaded to eat anything until his

flannel had become thoroughly warmed and comfortable when he

“bucked up” amazingly and yelled for his food-laden match.


I fed him at first every half-hour on very, very tiny quantities

of squashed ants’ eggs and Egbisc-o ; later I got him on to Cecto

and considerably lengthened the intervals—to my soul’s comfort.

His next step in food stuff's was to boiled seed, and he is now at



