66 
THE CONDOR 
| Vol. VIII 
The day was warm. We built a little promenade from the front door and set 
one of the youngsters blinking in the sunshine. He soon got his bearings. He 
liked it and looked so perked-up and proud. Then we set out another and 
another, seven in all. 
I believe there’s more family love in a chickadee’s household than in any other 
bird home I’ve visited. I’ve seen a young flicker jab at his brother in real devilish 
madness, but I never saw two chickadees come to blows. Of course, when young 
chickadees are hungry, they will cry for food just as any child. Not one of the 
seven was the least backward in asserting his rights when a morsel of food was in 
sight. Each honestly believed his turn was next. Once or twice I saw what 
“the family jar -; mother chickadee hanging below perch for an instant before feeding 
THE YOUNG ONES 
Copyright Photo , 1902 , by H. T. Bohlman and IV. L. Finley 
looked like a real family jar. Each one of the seven was clamoring for food as 
the mother hovered over. She herself must have forgotten whose turn it was, for 
she hung beneath the perch a moment to think. How she ever told one from the 
other, so as to divide the meals evenly, I don’t know. There was only one chick I 
could recognize — that was pigeon-toed, tousled-headed Johnnie. 
We trudged up the canyon early the next morning. Four of the flock had 
left the nest and taken to the bushes. Three staid in the clump while we focused 
the camera. It is rare indeed when one catches a real clear photograph of bird 
home-life, such as a mother just placing a green cut-worm in the mouth of a 
hungry chick; an unusual look of satisfaction on the face of the second bantling, 
