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A. Hampe—My Blaclccapped Lory



the trees, but soon he found it a dull game. Half flying half jumping,

he reached the veranda. If he found me here sitting in my wicker

chair, he was satisfied, was I not on the veranda he looked for me in

the dining and sitting-room. If his search was here also vain, he

flew through pantry and yard into the kitchen, where usually his

second best friend, my Chinese servant, was busy, whose shoulder he

now climbed eagerly. Even upstairs and downstairs he followed me.

Sometimes when my messmate and myself were lying in our easy chairs

on the veranda, both clad in white, Polly climbed by mistake my friend’s

chair. But at once he noticed his error, and quickly flew to me. Also

in the evening after dinner he still wanted to be with me, and was often

lying on his back in my lap.


Strangers, however, Polly did not like, and sometimes bit them

severely, while I or my boy could do anything with him without ever

being bitten. During the night his cage stood in my bedroom. As

soon as my boy lifted the cover in the morning and opened the cage,

Polly flew on my bed and played here with me like a little kitten.

When I went to my bathroom, he followed me quickly and took a

great interest in my toilet. When I was sitting in the bath, he flew

on my hand and took from there a really good ablution. Bathiug was

altogether one of Polly’s favourite pastimes. On the veranda he had

a big tub in which he rolled and splashed daily to his heart’s delight.

Only on very cold days he missed his bath. Consequently he became

a very beautiful bird. When he had been two months in my possession

he went through a complete moult, and was now in full resplendence

of wonderful colours of red, violet, ultramarine, and green. Without

teaching him, he soon started to talk. Of course, he spoke his name,

called my boy “ Agar ” mostly when he was hungry, and greeted

me with “ hallo ” when I went to his cage. Often he said, with rather

a deep voice, “ Good, good Polly,” and immediately afterwards

imitating my boy, “ so bad Polly.” When I covered his cage for the

night, one could hear “ Sleep, Polly, sleep.” He never slept on the

perch, but always in a nesting box I had provided for him. Besides

this, he laughed, whistled, imitated my Shama, and tried to accompany

the gramophone in songs without words. Of other Parrots, Polly

was very jealous, small Parakeets he did not mind, but as soon as I



