Notes from Field and Study 



177 



us, where he received, among other things, 

 his Christian name of Dixie. A small 

 basket with a handle, lined with soft 

 grass, was his home, and there he lay on 

 the bottom of it, undecided whether to 

 live or die. 



We were now confronted with the prob- 

 lem of food and drink for our new pet. 

 Worms were probably the natural diet, 

 but that meant we would have to dig for 

 them in the garden. We must, therefore, 

 find something simpler, something requir- 

 ing less effort on our part. So we consulted 

 a book on birds. One chapter was devoted 

 to the rearing of young birds, and in this 

 we found that finely crumbled hard- 

 boiled egg-yolk and potato would be the 

 proper thing. This, then, was Dixie's diet 

 for two months or more. Still following 

 the book, we fed him frequently during 

 the day, but at rather irregular intervals, 

 I'm afraid. 



As regards quantity, we were at a loss, 

 so we held his bill open, stuffing the egg 

 down until he choked and flopped, where- 

 upon we stopped. We followed the same 

 method in regard to his drink. With a 

 medicine dropper we injected water until 

 he indicated by a contortionist stunt that 

 he could hold no more. 



In this same chapter on the rearing of 

 young birds, the author makes the state- 

 ment that it is practically impossible to 

 raise baby Robins — they are too delicate. 

 But Dixie thrived from the first and grew 

 steadily. Once his basket got left out in the 

 cold entry during the night, and the next 

 morning Dixie lay stiff and cold in the 

 bottom. Apparently, he was perfectly 

 dead. On a chance, however, we let him 

 warm up gently in the oven, and in the 

 course of the morning he came to and was 

 as lively as ever. 



In a week or ten days he had started to 

 feather out and could hop on the handle of 

 his basket and sit there. A portable wire- 

 netting enclosure was built for him and 

 placed out on the shady lawn. Here he 

 stayed when out-of-doors. And again he 

 had a narrow escape, when one day he got 

 out and the neighbor's cat almost killed 

 him. We were positive that this tragedy 



had occurred, and were loudly lamenting 

 the fact when Dixie hopped quietly out 

 from under the ferns up close to the house 

 where he had taken refuge. Indoors, he 

 was allowed the freedom of the kitchen, 

 where he managed adroitly to keep himself 

 from getting stepped on and won the 

 affection of the cook. 



As he grew, he developed a distinct per- 

 sonality. He had a temper like a red-headed 

 Irishman, was extremely dictatorial and 

 selfish, but very fond, in his own way, of 

 father. At a whistled call from him, Dixie 

 would always appear, and would suffer 

 himself to be handled in any way. With 

 other members of the family, however, he 

 was merely tolerant, and indignantly re- 

 sented being fussed with too much. Here 

 I may mention an interesting, instinctive 

 trait. When one went to pick him up, he 

 would be willing to hop onto one's finger 

 or nestle in one's hand, but if one lowered 

 one's hand over him, so as to grasp him by 

 extending the fingers around him, he 

 would squawk and peck angrily. We 

 attributed this to an instinctive fear, per- 

 haps, of being clutched in the talons of a 

 larger bird. 



Though now old enough to eat alone, he 

 absolutely refused to feed himself, and 

 would lie on his back, screeching until 

 someone came and stuffed egg or worms 

 down his throat. If you offered too much, 

 he would again scream and peck at your 

 hands. This daily use of his lungs developed 

 a very harsh, piercing note which we could 

 always recognize as his, easily distinguish- 

 ing it from the calls of other Robins. Be- 

 sides his egg and potato diet, he now ate 

 worms and grasshoppers — when we would 

 catch them for him — but he never made 

 any attempt to get them for himself. In 

 our walks through the fields he would fol- 

 low in the rear, generally protesting, for 

 what he most liked was to hop on the toe 

 of father's shoe and ride that way. "Don't 

 do anything for yourself that anyone else 

 can do for you" was Dixie's motto, strictly 

 lived up to. 



Toward the last of September we com- 

 menced to pack up to return to our home 

 near Boston for the winter. During the 



