448 Walter Goodfellow—Some Reminiscences of a Collector


when fully feathered, and for weeks never left the chair except when

I took it off. It grew apace and vigorously exercised its wings until

one Sunday it was missing. I was very busy at the time, but sent

people out in all directions, and as soon as I was free I spent the rest

of the day wandering around the clearing examining all trees through

the glasses, with no result. That night we had a particularly violent

thunderstorm, and I wondered many times if it had lived through it.

Days went by without any news, and then, on the following Sunday

morning, exactly eight days later, I heard a noise from the fowls such

as they make when a hawk is about, and there on the ground just

in front of the verandah was poor “ Lora ” feebly trying to crawl

home, with face all scratched, and frightfully thin and weak. No

wanderer was ever more thankfully welcomed. After all, I doubt if

she had gone far, perhaps not even out of the clearing, and certainly

could not have found any food. It seemed as if she had been trying

to eat grass, as some was still in her beak. As she had never been

outside the verandah she would not know what the place looked like

from the outside, and probably had only been attracted back by

familiar sounds. I did not cut her wing, as I felt sure she would not

stray again, and she never did without returning. Later, she used

her wings to full advantage and often circled high up over the house.

Every day several hocks of the same species flew over the clearing

continually uttering their harsh screams, to which “ Lora ” replied,

and although they often turned back and came lower down she was

never tempted to join them. If I left home for a few days or even

hours she always had to be shut up until I had got well away in the

forest, or she flew off at once to find me, wheeling high in sky. To

watch for my return she took up her station in a tall tree by the house,

and on sighting me at once flew to my shoulder, overwhelming me

with affection. As Spanish was the language of the household she

learned much of it, but I had an Indian houseboy from whom she

learned many Chiquitana expressions. For instance, when she wanted

water, she always asked for pututu, and she still continued this over

here up to the day she died. The first year I had her I took her with

me on my annual visit to Concepcion, a boy carrying her in a box

on his back. Each day when I stopped for lunch and swung my



