Correspondence



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bread and milk sprinkled with maw. The cock Cordon called out with joy

at the bread and milk. I also gave soaked seed. A week before the baby left

the nest I found quite a large dead one on the floor. I cannot think how the

parents dragged it out of the nest; and I, thinking my hopes were dead,

didn’t give any ants’ eggs, and they only had the Canaries’ food, so they can

rear on egg food. I read that they could in Butler’s book, but until this year

my Cordons were never fertile; I think they became fertile from taking

the egg regularly from March. The baby spent the first night on the floor,

but they urged it until next day they got it on to the branches tied on to the

wall, and this evening it is sleeping beside its father. The hen has gone to

nest again with four or five eggs. The nest is cleverly hidden, and I only found

it by putting another branch on the wall and hearing the cock calling

anxiously.


I of course gave lettuce, seeding grass, shepherd’s purse in seed, all at

stated intervals from 6 o’clock. I left egg food at night for the first feed, and

I kept to regular hours all day.


Christine Irvine.



AN UNPRECEDENTED TRAGEDY


In one of my large aviaries I had a pair of Indian Ring-necked

Parrakeets nesting. A normal coloured green cock mated to a lutino hen.

Two fine young ones were hatched, and were practically reared, and would

have left the nest in a day or two, when an awful disaster befel them. One

afternoon some bees were seen near the aviary, and on our looking into the

nest-box we were horrified to see that a huge swarm of bees had settled on the

two unfortunate young ones and had smothered them. We were lucky to

save the parents by shutting them up, but it took us two days to clear the

bees from the nest-box. This is a sad experience I have never had before, and

thought it would interest members to hear of it. I am sorry to have lost two

beautiful young lutino-bred Parrakeets, which would have most probably

bred some lutinos in time, and in such an extraordinary way.


Alfred Ezra.



THE CALL OF THE MALEO


There cannot be many people who have heard the call of the Maleo

(Megacephalon maleo), either in confinement or, probably, even in a wild

state, unless it may be a few travellers in its native islands, but it is of such

a remarkable nature that I think it is worthy of putting on record. I have

never heard my bird, which I have had for three years, utter a sound until

yesterday, when I suddenly heard the most extraordinary noise coming from

its aviary and, hastily turning to discover the cause and the producer,

was able to see the whole performance. The Maleo was half sitting, in

a crouching position in the centre of its enclosure, with neck stretched out

and head lowered, the wings were also partially extended, the call was a very



