52 
THE CONDOR 
I voi,. vnr 
around the house after the grapes were gone. My mother came to Mocky’s res- 
cue by tying figs to the bare vine. So after that he would come to the porch for 
figs instead of going out to the tree some fifty yards away from the house. If a 
fig should fall to the floor, down he would fly for it, swallow a mouthful, then 
grab up the rest as if afraid to lose it, and fly to his retreat, the brush heap. 
Mocky had become so confiding that we decided to try for a closer acquaint- 
ance by fastening a fig onto the end of a wire rod twenty-eight inches long. He 
was accustomed to make his appearance on the brush pile first, turning this way 
and that with a flit of his tail, and then sail to the grape-vine or railing to look 
about for his food. I then held out the rod with the fig and he would fairly jump 
for it and eat all he wanted, then back to his perch to clean up his bill. Soon the 
figs were gone. It was then January and we wondered what next to offer him to 
stay with us. Again the good mother’s ideas came into play. She soaked some 
big prunes, and sure enough he took to them readily; but they had to be tacked 
to a small table, provided for the purpose, to keep him from running away with 
them to his preferred dining-hall. 
Mocky seemed to like my mother best as he would often fly to the porch rail 
and then over to the back of her chair. Some days if there happened to be no 
fruit in sight, he would hop over the porch floor looking all around, and it made 
no difference where we sat, to the table or chair-back he flew and in his silent way 
let us know that he wanted something to eat. Later, in the month of February 
we noticed Mocky one day as he sat on the brush heap, twitching his head and 
gulping as if to eject something from his stomach. A closer inspection showed 
him to be disgorging the hard kernels of the pepper berries. These seemed to 
form the bulk of his diet on rainy days. 
His eyes were ever alert for bugs or other insects. He would make off after 
them much after the manner of a shrike; in fact, so much so, that many small 
birds around the brush pile would make a dive for its shelter, as if to save them 
selves from being scalped. One day a noise was heard, of whirring wings and 
harsh shrike cries. I got to the door in time to see Mimus darting off after Mr. 
Shrike just as the latter was flying up into the cypress house. These two birds 
had several pitched battles during the succeeding week. The shrike must have 
then deserted the grounds in dispair because he could not master Mimus. The 
shrike may have been one of a pair I had turned loose several months before. I 
had had them caged for study, and they had remained about the place sometime 
after being released. 
Mocky spent most of his time in the pepper trees and in the cypress house on 
rainy days, but on fair ones he would not fail to come to the brush in answer to a 
few whistles. He had gotten to know our calls and seemed to feel under obliga- 
tion to answer them by making a prompt appearance. As the warmer days of 
F'ebruary came on, his song was given oftener and grew more varied and sweeter. 
Maybe he was trying to call a mate from out of the blue, for when singing he 
would continually turn his head over to one side, looking up into the sky. 
March 4 was one of those balmy spring days that moves the winter birds to 
restlessness. They will often tarry till evening and then between dusk and dawn 
depart for their summer homes. Our mockingbird was now bubbling over with 
his spring cheer; all day he kept it up; only it was a good-bye song. For that 
night he took wing for his nesting place, who knows where! The next day knew 
him not about the brush heap; it was silent without his melody; only the wrens, 
kinglets and sparrows were left to wonder why he had so suddenly deserted their 
happy band. 
Haywards , California. 
