184



Mr. Reginald Phillipps,



stunned on more than one occasion. But Grip went further than

this: he took intense pleasure in hurling large stones about the place;

but it was sore work for his companions—and for my pockets when

I found a large food- or water-basin smashed to pieces. Indeed,

when Grip was in one of his merry humours, the aviary was not a

comfortable residence for anyone or anything. Grip one cannot

blame ; the place was too small for him ; and he had not enough

to do. A few minutes’ sojourn in Grip’s aviary would have given

one cause for much anxious thought for the safety of one’s head.


But my readers will say that I must be drawing a long bow

to talk of a bird throwing stones. Truly, stone-throwing is not a

common accomplishment in a bird, even when that bird is a Raven,

and that Raven a Grip. Grip used to pick up a few nice handy

stones, about the size of a boy’s fist, and balance them, with much

painstaking, on one of the perches, some seven feet from the ground.

These he would watch, with jealous eye and bristling feather, as an

innocent-looking White Jackdaw, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, would

unconcernedly approach, with the intent, if he could get the chance,

of dashing suddenly at the stones and knocking them down, a pro¬

posed movement which was almost invariably frustrated by Grip’s

wariness. If one put up one’s hand towards the stones, Grip would

growl and snarl like a savage watch-dog. Suddenly he would seize

the nearest, dash off round and round the aviary like a possessed

messenger from the lower regions, uttering hoarse and ominous

croaks, but still retaining the stone in his beak—with a fine dis¬

regard for a certain fable, which tells of a croaking Crow and a piece

of cheese, which the croaking Crow dropped into the mouth of a

wily fox—who didn’t like cheese by the way. In the midst of his

noisy passage, the iron grip would he relaxed, and the stone, im¬

pelled onwards into space by the impetus of the bird’s flight, would

eventually come clattering down, striking terror and dismay into

the hearts of the other inmates of the aviary.


Like many other birds, Grip was very human. Although a

good-tempered old fellow, and fond of a game of romps, especially

with boys, he was inclined to be revengeful if unfairly treated. Only

from my hand would he receive punishment in a becoming spirit.

He recognised me as his master, and me only. Between you and



