Pete: The Story of an Adopted Robin 



By W^. H. MUNSON, Winona, Minn. 



DURING the first week after I adopted him, Pete accompanied me to 

 and from the laboratory each day; and during that time he learned 

 to pick up grains of sand, to flap his wings in mimic flight, to come to 

 me at call, to drink from a dropper. During the next week he learned to recog- 

 nize the difference between the appearance of the food-paddle and that of the 

 dropper. When he had had enough food he steadfastly refused any further 

 attention to the food-paddle, but when the dropper was presented he would 

 eagerly stretch out his neck to drink. He also flew each day during the second 

 week, always returning to me after each flight. 



He took especial delight in a dust-bath, but much preferred the road-dust 

 to the dry earth of the garden. When he wanted his bath he would go through 

 some of the motions in his cage, and then stand and peep till I took him to the 

 road, where he would revel for half an hour or more. 



Pete is a tyrant. If we do not attend to his wants immediately, his tender 

 little peep turns to a shrill staccato note that spells insistence in every sound. 

 Yes, he is a spoiled child, we know; but you must remember that he is the only 

 one in the family, and it is true that we have tried to anticipate his every need 

 before he even knew it. 



One of his flights gave me palpitation of the heart. I took him out in the 

 morning for his exercise, and he flew up, up, over the trees, over the house, and 

 was gone out of sight. Quickly I followed his general direction, but could find 

 nothing of him. I went back to the house, put on a coat and hat, and explored 

 the neighborhood, but he was gone beyond reclaim. A full half-hour I bemoaned 

 my loss, and was giving up in despair, when out of the blue came a flutter of 

 wings, and Pete alighted on my shoulder, shrilling his peep, peep into my ear. 

 He was hungry and did not propose to wait another minute, nor did he. We 

 went to the house, and no hungry child ever evinced greater satisfaction in 

 eating than did this little bird. 



Pete is a very wilful bird, and I am almost driven to say that he is intelligent. 

 One evening I had taken him to the street for his dust-bath, but he was hungry 

 and did not indulge himself very long. I had his food with me, and now and 

 then he made savage little flights or runs toward it. Repeatedly I put him back 

 in the dirt, scraped my finger around in it before him — that was the stimulus I 

 used to awaken his instinct — but he would ruflle his feathers just a little and 

 again dart for the food. I tossed him into the air to make him fly, for I felt 

 that if he were hungry when he flew, he would be sure to come back quickly, 

 but fly he would not. It was becoming dusk, so I finally fed him, and he awaited 

 no invitation to fly; but invitations to return were in vain. He would alight 

 not very far away, dust himself vigorously, but would not allow my close 

 approach as he always had before. I was fearful of losing him, but I am almost 



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