lashing with a whip failed to arouse it. What is the fox’s cunning and fleetness of foot given him for, or how has he ever acquired them, if this is the way his heart fails him at the sight of danger? The ‘possum behaves somewhat in this way, but it is a slow, stupid animal. Every instinct is supposed to be of some use to the animal possessing it, and to have been developed in the struggle for existence, but of what possible benefit could this death-feigning instinct be to the fox? His enemy would have his pelt without an effort.
The puma as figured by this La Plata naturalist is another animal whose habits in some respects contradict all we know of its tribe. Savage and cruel and bloodthirsty like our panther, leading much the same kind of life, it yet will not “defend itself against a human being,” but will rather defend a human being against its enemies; will fawn upon a man whom it meets in the night, rubbing playfully against his legs like a cat, etc.—all of which one would like to see corroborated by other observers.
The Robin.
Probably, with,us, no other bird is so closely associated with country life as the robin; most of the time pleasantly, but for a brief season, during cherry time, unpleasantly. His life touches or mingles with ours at many points—in the door-yard, in the garden, in the orchard, along the road, in the groves, in the woods. He is everywhere except in the depths of the primitive forests, and he is always very much at home. He does not hang timidly upon the skirts of our rural life, like, say, the thrasher or the cheewink; he plunges in boldly and takes his chances, and his share, and often more than his share, of whatever is going. What vigor, what cheer, how persistent, how prolific, how adaptive; pugnacious, but cheery, pilfering, but companionable!
When one first sees his ruddy breast upon the lawn in spring, or his pert form outlined against a patch of lingering snow in the brown fields, or hears his simple carol from the top of a leafless tree at sundown, what a mild thrill it gives one! What a train of pleasant associations is quickened into life!
What pictures he makes upon the lawn, what attitudes he strikes! See him seize a worm and yank it from its burrow!
I recently observed a robin boring for grubs in a country door-yard. It is a common enough sight to witness one seize an angle-worm and drag it from its burrow in the turf, but I am not sure that I ever before saw one drill for grubs and bring the big white morsel to the surface. The robin I am speaking of had a nest of young in a maple near by, and she worked the neighborhood very industriously for food. She would run along over the short grass after the manner of robins, stopping every few feet, her form stiff and erect. Now and then she would suddenly bend her head toward the ground and bring eye or ear for a moment to bear intently upon it. Then she would spring to boring the turf vigorously with her bill, changing her attitude at each stroke, alert and watchful, throwing up the grass roots and little jets of soil, stabbing deeper and deeper, growing every moment more and more excited, till finally a fat grub is seized and brought forth. Time after time, during several days, I saw her mine for grubs in this way and drag them forth. How did she know where to drill? The insect was in every case an inch below the surface. Did she hear it gnawing the roots of the grasses, or did she see a movement in the turf beneath which the grub was at work? I know not. I only know that she struck her game unerringly each time. Only twice did I see her make a few thrusts and then desist, as if she had been for the moment deceived.
How pugnacious the robin is! With what spunk and spirit he defends himself against his enemies! Every spring I see the robins mobbing the blue-jays that go sneaking through the trees looking for eggs. The crow-blackbirds nest in my evergreens, and there is perpetual war between them and the robins. The blackbirds devour the robins’ eggs, and the robins never cease to utter their protest, often backing it up with blows. I saw two robins attack a young blackbird in the air, and they tweaked out his feathers at a lively rate.
The past spring a pack of robins killed a cuckoo near me that they found robbing a nest. I did not witness the killing, but I have cross-questioned a number of people who did see it, and I am convinced of the fact. They set upon him when he was on the robin’s nest, and left him so bruised and helpless beneath it that he soon died. It was the first intimation I had ever had that the cuckoo devoured the eggs of other
Ducks and the Wind
Mr. R. Kearton, F.Z.S., in his interesting book called “Wild Nature’s Ways,” jumps to the conclusion that because he has seen ducks flying against the wind they always fly against the wind, in order not to ruffle their plumage, as would be the case, he thinks, did they fly with the wind. Now ducks fly where they want to go, regardless of the direction of the wind. But aside from this a duck would not ruffle his plumage any more going with the wind than against it, for once on the wing, the duck is going through the air, just as a steamboat is going with or against the tide. Like many other writers of animals and their habits, Mr. Kearton draws a hasty and incorrect conclusion from his observations, and falls into the common error of making too much out of them.
