218 
The Downy Woodpecker 
Insects 
Destroyed 
He is the natural watchman of our fruit-trees. He hunts out the 
moth’s eggs laid in the crack of the bark and eats them, thus pre- 
venting a brood of caterpillars from hatching and eating the leaves 
of the tree. He finds the eggs of beetles and eats them, also, before 
they can hatch out into the wood-boring larvae that sometimes girdle 
and kill the limbs. Thus Downy labors on, day by 
day, through the year, destroying millions of harmful 
insects that if unmolested would do a vast injury 
to the groves and orchards. For all this service he never eats any of 
the fruit of the trees he guards, but, when in need of a little vegetable 
diet, goes to the berries of the dogwood, or woodbine, or pokeberry. 
Occasionally he eats a few weed-seeds just for variety. Downy is 
sometimes called “Sapsucker,” and is accused of pecking holes in the 
bark of trees for the purpose of getting sap. But he is not the guilty 
one — the bird that does this is another kind of woodpecker. The small 
holes that our little friend makes in trees do not even reach the inner 
bark, except when he is bent on securing some harmful intruder. 
Like most of our woodpeckers Downy is a resident throughout the 
year wherever found, and seems to enjoy all seasons equally. Early 
in December one dug out with his bill a cavity for his winter bedroom 
in the dead limb of the tree standing near the house. So nice and 
cozy a retreat from the wind was it that frequently, early in the evening, 
he would leave his friends. Chickadee and Titmouse, with whom he 
had romped all day, and, hurrying off, tumble into bed to dream away 
the long winter night. On cold and rainy mornings he would some- 
times lie late abed, probably knowing that in doing so he stood no 
danger of losing the early worm. I found him still there about nine 
o’clock one drizzling morning; to be sure, he was up and about, but he 
had not yet left home. He was clinging just inside the hollow of the 
limb, and I could distinctly see his bill and bright inquisitive eyes as 
he sat looking out over the drenched and dreary world. 
When you find Downy in your orchard on a bright, cold morning 
in January, he has the same busy, contented air which you must have 
noticed when first making his acquaintance, perhaps on some warm 
spring day. He appears so happy and buoyant at all times, however, 
that one wonders whether he has not hidden away 
under his little white waistcoat a perpetual fountain 
of the ecstasy of springtime and youth. 
He likes cheerful company, especially in the winter, when most of 
the forest-voices are silent and the cold winds are howling around the 
trunks of the sleeping forest-trees. 
He then hunts up his friends, the little gray Tufted Titmouse and 
the light-hearted Chickadee. Together they spend much time in bands, 
patrolling the woodland, and searching out from their hiding-places the 
eggs of insects stowed away under the bark to wait for the warm spring 
sun to hatch them. A dozen or more birds are thus often found to- 
gether. 
Downy and 
his Friends 
