NURSING. 
5 
ies) 
wards, the bird will probably get away whilst you 
are doing it. 
To ensure further quiet, I sometimes put a clean 
empty sack under the lid, over half the box, to 
make a quiet corner for the poor invalid. A great 
advantage in having a stove in your aviary is its 
value in sickness, for warmth means so very much 
to any sick bird. In the winter months, when the 
nights are long and dark, and the patient would 
die if left so long unable to see its food, I think 
it is better to keep a lamp burning, but, of course, 
not letting its full rays fall on the cage to disturb 
the patient. 
Broken Limbs, etc.—This is not an accident that 
often happens, but if it should take place it is well 
to know what to do. I always prefer, if possible, 
to handle a bird alone, but in the case of clipping 
beaks and setting limbs you need someone to help 
you, because you must have both hands free and 
the patient steady. I once had a very bad break, 
high up in the thigh, of a Bar-shouldered dove’s 
leg. It was caused by a Conure, and the leg 
dangled like a bit of string. You need some cotton 
wool, a splint, and some thread or very narrow 
tape. Your splint can be made from part of a 
wooden match or, what is perhaps better, the split 
half of a quill pen, because it fits round the leg 
if the break is in the featherless part; otherwise 
it would not have any advantage over the match. 
Hold the bird’s leg in the position it would 
naturally be, and gently put a strand of cotton 
wool between the leg and the splint, so that there 
is nothing hard actually touching the leg; put on 
the splint over this, and over this again, right 
round the leg, some more medicated cotton wool, 
and bind all round firmly with the thread or tape, 
but do not put it so tight as to stop the circulation. 
Be sure and have your splint a comfortable length 
—ascertain how long it should be before you start 
operations. When finished put the bird in a large 
cage without perches, a bed of hay on the floor, 
and food and water within easy reach. In the case 
of the Bar-shouldered dove the leg knit together 
very firmly, and it only slightly stuck out a little 
(though the bird used it very well), as, unfortu- 
nately, I did not set it perfectly straight. 
Another case I had was that of a broken beak in 
a little Rufous dove. The top half was just hang- 
ing by a thread of skin, and it could not eat its 
seed in consequence. I plastered the beak over 
with numbers of strips of court plaister cut very, 
very narrow and of only a short length, so as not 
to impede the action of the beak in any way. The 
dove rapidly began to recover, and in a short time 
could hold the seed and swallow it. Then, most 
unfortunately, it gave the beak a fresh knock 
when I was not by, and lost the injured part 
entirely. I could do nothing for it then, and 
finally it died. I was terribly disappointed, for [ 
quite thought it would have recovered, and it was 
such an interesting case. 
I have never had a broken wing, but I have had 
several knocked wings, that somehow renders them 
stiff and useless. I do not think anything can be 
done for this form of accident. The bird will 
never fly again. All you can do is to fix it a low 
perch, a few inches from the ground, across the 
corner of an aviary, so that it may not be com- 
pelled to keep on the ground. This is bad for any 
bird—the cold, damp, and frost will soon ruin any 
bird’s feet. Bleeding Heart pigeons keep much 
on the ground, and now and then their feet suffer— 
that is the chief reason why they must be brought 
in for the winter. 
I once had a bird that got mortification in its 
feet. The flesh turned black, then dropped off, 
leaving the bone of the toes bare. Finally these 
broke off (just as I was trying to screw up my 
courage to amputate them), and the foot became 
almost a stump, but the bird seemed otherwise 
unaffected. Don’t fix up any ‘slanting branches 
for your wing-crippled birds to climb up. If you 
do they will some day be startled, fall, and injure 
themselves, because their wings cannot save them, 
so they fall heavily. 
And now I have got to the end of my story 
about my birds, though if I could tallx to you for 
ten minutes I could tell you a lot more, and per- 
haps explain it all better than in writing. 
If you once start keeping birds, the love will 
probably grow on you, and your own keen 
interest in your pets will teach you more 
than any book. Keep a note-book of their 
doings all the year through. Not only will 
the nesting dates be a help, but you will 
find your log books very pleasant reading when 
what is now the present has become the past. 
Make your birds as happy as you can by personally 
thinking out all you can for their comfort, and 
by encouraging those who have the care of them 
for you to love and study them too. Remember 
you have taken away the best gift a bird has—its 
free life—by keeping it captive. You owe it some 
care and consideration for this. 
I save my birds’ prettiest feathers, and keep 
them in my desk in the passage. Some day I 
think I will mount them, placing each group 
between two sheets of very thin glass, not too 
large, and binding the plates round, after the 
manner of a lantern slide, adding the name of each 
bird the feather came from. But this is one of the 
things I think I shall never have time to carry 
out. 
