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My pet Vulture.



this bird, and he formed one of quite a consignment of wild beasts,

which, so far as I can recollect, included the following : Six Crowned

Cranes, one Hornbill, two Grey Parrots, one Duiker Antelope, and

one Patas Monkey.


In this connection I might mention in passing that two of

these Crowned Cranes were given to Mr. Baring, of Lambay Island,

off the Co. Dublin coast, where they had complete liberty, and

Mr. Baring has told me that the spectacle of these large birds flying

about the Island was a wonderfully interesting and attractive one.

Subsequently one died and the other flew to the mainland to be

promptly shot, of course, as a rare visitor.


The vulture arrived in quite a small box, looking thoroughly

bedraggled.


Notwithstanding his condition, however, my brother insisted

on admitting my very game Irish Terrier at his liberation, assuring

me that the bird would more than hold his own in any encounter.


The result was a great surprise to me, as, on the dog pro¬

ceeding to tackle him, this dissipated-looking scarecrow met the

attack with wings and neck fully extended—a fearsome sight, before

which my friend Jack retreated gradually backwards the whole

length of the garden, eventually finding sanctuary in his kennel with

the vulture standing before the entrance.


As no properly-constructed dog could ever forget, much less

forgive, such ignominious treatment, Jack always cherished a bitter

hatred for this aggressive interloper and was continually on the

look out for chances to get even. As the vulture was quite indifferent

whether he presented his face or his tail to the dog, the latter had

many opportunities of making attacks in the rear, which he took

every advantage of, and I had to go to the rescue of the bird on

many occasions.


He always roosted at night in a large box under a roof which

sheltered my greenhouse stove. To reach these quarters he was

obliged to “ step over ” Jack’s kennel, and lie generally wasted no

time over this operation.


He was perfectly free to come and go as he liked, being more

or less pinioned, and every morning he might be seen as the sun got

up, solemnly stalking up the garden to his perch in the centre of



