No/es on my Birds.



145



Of course, the result was that the Brouze-uecked, being

the weakest, suffered, and had it not been for the kindness and

sense shown by the ship’s butcher (who had charge of the birds)

I should have lost the Bronze-necked Doves altogether. He

separated the birds on the voyage, but, in the case of the hen

Bronze-necked, it was too late. When she arrived, I found she

had sustained a most terrible injury, the eye and right side of

the face was entirely gone, just as if it had been sliced off. The

bird could still get about, but the wound, which seemed to

have healed once, broke out afresh. I think the brain was

affected, and after lingering for a time, the poor thing died. The

cock, too, had not escaped uninjured for he had a wound over one

eye, and the place even now after many months is still there, and

never really goes, although the bird seems healthy and strong.

Their ill-fortune seemed to pursue the poor Bronze-necks; for

the cock a short time after he came to me, had the misfortune

to get his leg broken by a small Cactus Couure. The whole

thing was really a misunderstanding, the Conure settled near

the Dove, who, thinking it was going to be attacked, raised one

wing high above its head, as Doves will when on the defensive.

The Conure seeing the raised wing, and thinking it meant

mischief, thought that at any rate he would get the first blow in,

so snapped at the Dove's leg and broke it right up the thigh,

leaving the leg dangling and only held by a piece of skin.


The groom (who looked after the aviaries) held the bird

whilst I bound up its leg, using a wooden match for a splint,

with some cotton wool, tape and thread. After a time, the leg

set, and now is quite strong again, but unfortunately I did not

set it quite straight and in consequence the leg sticks out a

little. After the death of the hen, the cock grew very miserable,

and used to sit huddled up on a perch taking no interest in

anything. Some time after, I managed to secure another hen,

and the joy of the poor lonely bird was a pleasure to see. The

change in him when he saw the little hen was just magical.

Before he saw her he had looked the picture of woe, now, in a

moment, he was transformed and commenced bowing and cooing

with delight. The love, however, is nearly all on his side, the

hen puts up with him, but little more. I think mj^self she is



