Why the Birds Are Decreasing 



By ROLLA WARREN KIMSEY. Lathrop, Mo. 



BIRDS are a great deal like people. There is probably no bird, regard- 

 less of what its reputation for good may be, but that does some harm. 

 Most of our best-known insect-destroyers are also great lovers of fruit ; 

 devouring large quantities of cherries, strawberries and grapes. I think, 

 however, that, all things considered, the good done by the feathered folk is 

 sufficient to credit them, as a class, as the friend of man. Then, if it is a fact 

 that the birds are decreasing, it is time for something practical to be done for 

 their protection. 



The first thing I desire to set forth is that the breeding-places are being 

 destroyed. I have in mind a certain territory where hawthorn, red thorn, 

 wild plum and crab trees, wild rose-bushes and other small, thick bushes 

 grew in profusion along the streams, fence-corners and roadside. These fur- 

 nished an ideal nesting-place, and also protection, for the Catbird, Brown 

 Thrasher and Mockingbird. Then there were miles of hedge-fence, so closely 

 matted that it was almost impossible for one to locate or reach a nest within 

 the thorns. In these places I have found dozens of nests in the course of an 

 afternoon stroll. Now this land has been steadily advancing in value, and as 

 a result, the brush and thickets have been cleared away, the hedge-fences 

 uprooted, and along the roadside appears the neat wire fence. The birds that 

 once found shelter and protection for their nest and young have been forced 

 to build more in the open, or to leave the neighborhood for more desirable 

 nesting-places. So, with less protection, a greater number of their young 

 are being destroyed each year. I go over the same ground, and consider myself 

 fortunate if I find three or four nests where in previous years I have found 

 many, with little effort. 



Around almost every farmhouse there are from six to fifteen half-fed cats. 

 In the villages and cities there are hundreds of them, homeless, and living as 

 it were by their wits. The birds, that love the friendship and companionship 

 of man, build their nests in the great trees around the house, and in the old 

 neglected orchard, which knows nothing about a pruning-hook or saw. In 

 one of these old trees I have seen the nest of a Woodpecker in a decayed stub ; 

 up in a substantial fork, the nest of a Robin; and on a low, flat limb, a Dove 

 over her eggs. But now the old orchard has given way to closely trimmed, 

 business-like trees, in which a nest would have no more protection than out 

 on the highway. I have stood in some yards and counted ten and twelve 

 nests, without moving. Now it is about the yard and orchard that the cat 

 gets in its most deadly work. It is impossible for young birds to stay in the 

 trees when learning to fly; in fact, one will find them on the ground nearly as 

 often as in the trees. And how often have I been reading in the shade, on some 

 summer day, to be aroused by the cry of a fledgling Oriole or Robin, as it strug- 



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