The Bird Hospital :: CHAPTER IX. BOBBINETTE AND BOBBY TWO ORPHANS

CHAPTER IX. BOBBINETTE AND BOBBY TWO ORPHANS

Those who have been fortunate enough to have read that charming little story of “Bobby and Bobbinette,” by Mrs. Talbot, will know where I found these names. Instead of being two New York children, they are two Seneca Falls robins, but the names fit as if made to order, as they are just as different as the original Bobby and Bobbinette. Bobbinette rules Bob with a rod of iron, and he meekly does as he is bid.

One bright morning in May, as I came into the yard, I saw Dona Marina sitting on the front piazza charming a nice, plump baby robin, who was perched on a water-pipe not three feet away. She was opening and shutting her mouth, making that hissing sound, and her large green eyes were fairly glued to the robin’s black ones. Just as she was ready to spring, I called out sharply: “Dona Marina, you wicked cat, don’t you dare catch that baby bird.” She turned around in the most leisurely way, and came to meet me with the air of the innocent.

If I had not seen her with my own eyes, I never should have suspected she had the least designs on the bird. The mother bird was calling and screeching with rage in a tree near by. As soon as Dona Marina’s back was turned, the frightened bird hopped down, and went around in the back yard as fast as her baby legs could carry her.

After telling Dona Marina just what I thought of her conduct, I went after the baby, and finally caught her. But, when I brought her back to the street, there was no mother bird anywhere to be seen or heard, and she evidently thought her darling had gone down Dona Marina’s throat.

I then told the little stranger that she was in the hands of the head nurse of “The Bird Hospital,” and would receive the best of care. I at once put her into a nice little cot, and covered her, as it is best to keep wild or strange birds in the dark for at least two days, until they get used to you and their environments.

My new patient was very hungry, so I had no trouble in getting her to take the cracker soaked in milk. The third day I put her into a canary cage (but covered), as I thought I better try and teach her to stay in a cage some of the time, and not always have her liberty, as the dear departed Cady did. She behaved unusually well, and I kept her in that for several days, taking her out many times to stretch and flop her wings.

I was then fortunate enough to have a large parrot cage loaned me. She showed great delight when I put her in, as she had plenty of room to go about, and did not show the slightest desire to get out. I knew she could if she wished, as the brass wires were very wide apart.

I was detained down-stairs, and it was later than usual when I went up to put her to bed in her cot. As I went into the room, I saw there was no baby bird in the cage.

I called out: “Oh, my baby has gone,” and a very mournful peep came back to me, which plainly said: “I am over here in this dark corner.” She had evidently tried to find me, but did not know the way down-stairs. That was the first and last time she ever ran away.

Blondell and Dona Marina had been the only occupants in the hospital for three years, with the exception of a few stray patients who only lived a very short time.

At first Dona Marina did not know what to make of the robin. She knew it was entirely different from Blondell, and watched it hopping all over the floor with the greatest interest, as Blondell usually stayed in her cage. For a few days I watched her very carefully when the robin was on the floor, but she soon understood she was not to touch it, and would lie on the rug and go to sleep, while the robin played about her.

Two weeks after I rescued the robin from the jaws of death, I saw another baby robin in the back yard. The floodgates of heaven were opened wide, and the rain coming down in perfect torrents. I could not see or hear any father or mother bird, but there was a large white cat who had his eyes upon her. I spent most of my time for an hour with one eye on the bird and the other on the cat. At last I succeeded in frightening the cat away, and, as it grew dark, the bird flew up on to the grape-vine, then into a small tree. It had not stopped raining one minute, and I could not bear to think of that dear baby up in a tree all night alone, with a prospect of the white cat making his breakfast upon it.

When it became quite dark, I took a chair out under the tree, stood up on it, reached up and put my hand over the bird. I soon found it had good lungs, and also found it was a beauty, so did not mind being covered with mud and getting almost as wet as the bird. I felt sure it was a male bird, and that the first one was a female, as that was so much lighter in colouring.

I dried orphan number two, and put him to sleep in a cot, just as I did orphan number one. The next morning I told her all that I have told to you, then brought the little stranger and put him inside the cage, expecting she would be more than pleased to have a relative for a companion, but, alas, no. I never was more mistaken in my life. She put up all the feathers in her crest, looking like a wild “Indian,” spread her wings, and was not only ready to fight, but pitched right in. The little stranger was more afraid of her than he was of the white cat, and it did not take him many seconds to get out between the bars, and fly to me for protection. But, after a few days, they became good friends, and slept every night in the cage side by side in the swing.

Then came a great discussion, “What shall I name the robins?” but it was settled for me by having the little book I spoke of sent me.

When Dona Marina saw robin number two, she acted as if she thought there were getting to be more robins in the hospital than she cared to see, but when number three arrived, her eyes grew larger than ever, and she seemed to say: “Will they never cease coming?”

I was unusually busy when a friend came with a box. I said: “I hope you have not brought anything for me to take care of, as I am almost frantic now.” She said: “Only a baby robin.” I held up my hands and exclaimed: “But I already have two.” She said: “I did not know what else to do with it. It fell out of the nest, and I could not take care of it, and I knew you would.”

The poor little thing could not even stand up, and all it knew was to open its big bill and cry for food. Of course I was simply obliged to keep it.

Few people have the slightest idea of the care and trouble of a wild baby bird. I did not want it to starve to death, so every few moments I put cracker and milk down that yawning cavity. The last thing before I got into bed at twelve o’clock I fed it, and I got up and fed it every two hours during the night. I was almost in hopes it might die, but, when morning came, it was as lively as a cricket. I at once named the third orphan BÈbÈ, and for two weeks it gave to me the greatest pleasure, as well as constant care.

Bobbinette and Bobby simply hated the little stranger, and would not have the slightest thing to do with her. If I put her into their cage, they would immediately chase her out. She would fall on to the floor, as she could not fly, and get out of their way as quickly as her weak little legs could carry her. Every little while during the day, I would put her into her little white cot for a nap, and she would go to sleep at once.

Every day she grew stronger, and before many days could run about as fast as Bobbinette and Bobby, but she could not fly.

At that time Dona Marina gave birth to two beautiful kittens, consequently she was in the hospital most of the day as well as the night. At first I was afraid Dona Marina might hurt BÈbÈ, as BÈbÈ could not fly, and was usually on the floor when she was not taking her nap.

All there was to do was to make Dona Marina fully understand she was not to hurt or even frighten BÈbÈ.

I put Dona Marina on a chair, then put BÈbÈ beside her. By the way Bobbinette and Bobby cocked their pretty heads and puffed out their breasts, I knew they were thoroughly enjoying hearing me tell Dona Marina how very naughty they had been to BÈbÈ, and that she must be very kind to the little stranger, help take good care of her, and make her happy. Dona Marina nodded her wise little head, and blinked her intelligent eyes at me, smelled BÈbÈ all over, but never offered to bite her. In cat language she said she would always be kind, and try to take the place of her lost mother, and she kept her promise. From that day they were together almost constantly, Dona Marina lying on a chair or on the floor (when she was not giving her babies their dinner, as it was too warm weather to stay with them all the time), with BÈbÈ playing all about her.

When Bobbinette and Bobby felt very good-natured, they would ask BÈbÈ to play with them on the floor, but never would let her go inside their cage. If Dona Marina was trying to take a nap, they would hop all about her, chirp as loud as they could, and tell BÈbÈ to go and pull her tail, which she often did. Dona Marina would open her eyes, smile at her, close them, give a good stretch, and go to sleep again.

When BÈbÈ would hear Dona Marina and me coming up the stairs, she would run out into the hall to meet us, hop along by Dona Marina’s side into the dressing-room, hop on to the edge of her dish, and drink milk with her, and Dona Marina never gave her a cross look.

We feel sure if BÈbÈ had lived until the cot with the kittens in it was put on the floor, she would have gotten right in and gone to sleep with them. But dear BÈbÈ’s life was far too short for me, but plenty long for Bobbinette and Bobby.

One afternoon while I was out, BÈbÈ must have felt badly, and went down-stairs to look for me. She found her way into my mother’s room and woke her with her peeping. My mother spoke to her, but she knew it was not the voice she was accustomed to, and tried to find her way back. She was dreadfully frightened when she was finally caught, for she also knew it was not the hand that fondled her. When I returned, I saw at once there was something wrong with my baby bird, as a very bad odour was coming from her breath. I did all I could, put her to bed, and she seemed all right. The next morning she grew worse again, and in a few moments was nothing but a ball of pretty lifeless feathers. I felt sure she died of blood poison from the angleworms that were forced down her throat before she was brought to the hospital. The mother birds always kill the worms before feeding to their birdlings.

After Bobbinette had been in the hospital a week, as a great honour, I presented Cady’s blue and white china bath-dish to her. She acknowledged the compliment by going right in and taking a nice bath. When Bobby arrived, he did not even wait to be asked to make use of the bath-tub, but took possession at once. After that, Bobbinette positively refused to take her bath in it. Every day when I offered it to her, she would hop on to the edge, then fly away, go into the cage, scold, and try to make me understand what she meant. If I held the dish up to her, she would hop on, take a drink, and away she would go.

This went on for two weeks, then all at once it flashed through my stupid brain that she had no intention of taking a bath in the same dish Bobby did.

I immediately went down-stairs, and came back with an oval white vegetable dish, and said: “Bobbinette, how would you like this for your very own?” She was wild with delight, and could hardly wait until it was filled; in fact, got in before the water was put in. I assure you she took a good long bath to make up for the two weeks she had been without.

The next morning, when I put the blue dish down for Bob and the white one for Bobbinette, that impertinent and presuming fellow had the face to go over to Bobbinette’s dish and say: “I think I will try the white one for a change,” and hopped on with a very grand air; but he hopped off much quicker than he hopped on, for Bobbinette flew at him and took feathers out of the top of his head. When she sees him, she will never let him go near her dish, but often she does not see him, and, if I am not there, he will take part of his bath in hers, then the rest in his own.

BOBBINETTE BOBBY

Lately I have made it a point to be there until he finishes, for I cannot supply a new dish for Bobbinette every few days.

They like to have me play with them by throwing the water at them, just as Cady did, and, if I sing and keep time by rapping the dish, Bob will sing with me.

Bob would take a bath twice a day if I would let him, but Bobbinette sometimes does not take one for two or three days. You see she got into bad habits the weeks she went without.

It had rained most of the time before Bobbinette and Bobby came to the hospital to live, and no doubt they had been soaked to the skin many times. When it was too late, I found I ought not to have let them bathe, for they both had bad colds. I did not know what the matter was until they began to cough, sneeze, and make all sorts of disagreeable noises. They would have driven any one who was nervous about wild, and they really annoyed me, who am not, and kept me awake many nights. I had never had birds act as they did, for they were different from a bird with the asthma. Some of my friends who knew about chickens said they had the “pip,” others the “gapes,” and told me to do this, that, and the other thing, but they kept growing worse instead of better. Finally I wrote to my old standby, George Holden, and asked what to do, as I felt it was high time to have a good counsel. They had already been eating his bird food. He wrote to me: “Do not pay any attention to the noise the robins make, add more carrot to their food, give them plenty of green food, and let them have all they want to eat; keep them warm, and they will come out all right.” I followed his advice, and, after many trying weeks, they entirely recovered. This case was the longest, except Teddy’s, the hospital ever had.

When Bobby moulted, his feathers came in as fast as they came out, but Bobbinette must have had a high fever, for, when some of hers came out, no new ones came in. From her shoulders to the top of her head she did not have a feather for two months. She would scratch her head and pick her wings most of the time.

One day I looked her over carefully, and found the under part of her wings red and inflamed, while on the top of her head was a crust similar to the milk crust babies have.

I immediately rubbed dry sulphur all over her head and under parts of her wings, and kept it up for two weeks. By the time it was warm weather, and their colds seemed cured, I let them have their bath again, and how much they enjoyed them only they can tell. Then the crust began to leave Bobbinette’s head, as well as all of her crest feathers, until only three remained, and for weeks no new ones came in. It was very amusing, when Bobbinette became very angry and began to scold, to see those three feathers stand straight up as proud as if there were three dozen.

Bobby is always dignified and rarely loses his temper or ruffles his plumage, while Bobbinette very often gets mad, scolds you, strutting about with breast feathers all puffed out, and the feathers on her head standing up and her tail going like a little wren. If Bobby is taking a drink of water, and Bobbinette wants some, she never says, “By your leave,” or waits a second, but coolly takes him by the feathers of his head and puts him away, and takes possession of the water. But Bob is much more destructive than Bobbinette. They eat off of pretty Vantine china, and drank their water out of thin whiskey glasses until Bob broke four by taking them up in his bill and dropping them down on his bath-dish to hear them make a ringing sound. Now I make them use a little earthen jar, that is good and strong, and only favour them with a glass to drink their milk out of when they go down to the parlour for their singing lesson.

One day Bob took a lovely china pin-tray off of my dressing-table and threw it on the floor, breaking it in many pieces. Another day I found him out in the hall with my string of gold beads, shaking them as if he thought they were an angleworm. He had bitten two beads until they were almost flat. Like many small boys, he thinks matches are about the nicest things to play with, and I often find them thrown in all directions.

Dona Marina’s kittens had been given away before they were old enough to take much notice of Blondell, but her new kittens, Blonde and Brunette, lived with the birds many weeks. Blonde was white with tortoise-shell markings, and twice as large as Brunette, who was just like her black mother.

Blonde was gentle in all of her ways, while Brunette was just the opposite. Blonde would wake me in the morning by gently tapping my cheek with her big, soft white paw. Brunette would come with a rush and land on the top of my head. I did not have the least trouble in teaching Blonde not to spring at the birds, but I had a great deal with Brunette before I could make her understand that she was not to slap them with her tiny black velvet paw.

One day I was really surprised myself when I went into the room to find Blonde sound asleep in front of Blondell’s cage on the platform, Brunette asleep in the gravel, and Bobbinette and Bobby on the perches above them. It proved they had learned their lessons well, and I never worried about them after that.

I was very anxious to get a picture of them altogether, so had the old perches brought up that had been put away so long. For a week I posed them every day. Dona Marina on “Teddy’s piazza,” Blonde in the side with the food, Brunette in the gravel, Bobbinette and Bobby on the perches, and Blondell in her usual place. It made a pretty picture, I assure you.

The photographer was very busy, and by the time he could come, it was impossible to have Dona Marina in the group, as she had weaned her babies and hated every hair in their dear little bodies. For two weeks she did nothing but growl and spit every time she saw them, besides slapping them hard if they came within her reach. Brunette would slap back, but lovable little Blonde would look at her in a sad, astonished way.

One day, when Dona Marina came in and could not find her babies, after looking all over the lower part of the house, she fairly beamed, and we never heard another growl, but it was many weeks before she went to the hospital.

One day I tried carrying her up, but she fought so hard I had to let her go. I tried again, and got her inside and put her on the bed. She smelled it all over, then simply flew out, and down-stairs she went. The next time when I got her inside, I closed the door. When she found she could not get out, she examined every corner, went under everything, and, when she finally made up her mind there were no kittens hidden away, she jumped into my lap and began to sing. She wants to be all in all to me, and is jealous of everything and everybody.

But to go back to the picture, that was a day long to be remembered. When I asked the photographer to take it, he looked at me as if he thought I had just escaped from a lunatic hospital, and said: “I can take a picture of a bird or a cat, but to take one of birds and cats together, I think it would be quite impossible.” I was determined if possible to have the picture taken, so said: “But you do not know me, my cats, or my birds.”

At last he came to please me, not expecting to get any kind of a picture. I told him to come right after luncheon, as Blonde and Brunette were sleepy at that time, but instead, it was between four and five o’clock. Bobbinette and Bob had only been used to our boy coming into the hospital, so, when two men appeared, it was quite enough to frighten the wits out of them, but their bringing all of their machines made it ten times worse. They flew here, there, and everywhere, out into the hall, back again, lighting upon my head and shoulders. It took a long time to get them quiet, but the men made as little noise as possible, and were very patient.

After Bobbinette and Bobby became a little used to them, I looked up Blonde and Brunette. They were just fresh from their nap, and wanted to do anything but mind and sit still. Several times I thought it was going to be even beyond me to get them all quiet at once.

At last it was accomplished. Bang! went the machine, vivid light, dense smoke, Bobbinette and Bobby flying in every direction and screeching as only robins can; Blonde and Brunette running all over the floor, growling, spitting, and hissing, but the deed was done. When we saw the picture, we all felt repaid for our trouble, and the birds and kittens for being so frightened. And the photographer, by the way, found after all that he could take a picture of birds and kittens together.

That was the beginning of quite a little work, which took a great deal of time, nervous strength, and patience, but with it all we derived a great deal of pleasure, and the birds seemed to thoroughly enjoy being naughty.

BLONDE BOBBY BLONDELL
BOBBINETTE
BRUNETTE

Just at this time a young Italian came to town, fresh from a school of photography, who had plenty of time to give to us. His kindness and patience was fully appreciated and never will be forgotten. The birds liked him, too, as he was always gentle, spoke kindly, and never a cross word did we hear, no matter how provoking they were. The group with Bobbinette and Bobby, Dick, Dona Marina, Blondell and me took two whole evenings to get.

Just as the photographer would think they were all in good position, Bobbinette would turn her back; then, when she turned around, Bobby would get down and go out into the back parlour. As no one could manage them but me, I would have to get up, taking Dick and Blondell in my left hand, Dona Marina under my left arm, and go after Bobby. Dona Marina did not care how many birds were on her back if she could lie on my lap, but Blondell was as slippery as an eel, and, when all the others were ready, off from Dona Marina’s back she would go, and I would have to get down again and go after her, holding tight to Dick and Dona Marina.

One day during summer we had a patient the like of which we had never had before. It was a wee brown puppy, but where she came from we never found out. Her coming was heralded by Dona Marina’s jumping on to her back and slapping and biting her. The birds and I rushed to the window when we heard the noise; the puppy was crying lustily, as she was too young to fight. The next thing they came tearing into the hospital, and for a few moments one would have thought the room was filled with wild animals.

For two days there was constant trouble and commotion in the hospital, and I felt if I did not find her a good home (which I did), all of my patients would have nervous prostration.

Another day the robins were very much frightened by an English sparrow coming to the hospital. If it had been a large hawk, they could not have acted worse. A man brought him, who had taken him away from a cruel boy who was just ready to give him to his cat. I looked him all over, and, when I found he was not injured in any way, I knew it would not be right to keep him. I would have liked to, as he reminded me so much of Mack. When I opened the window, he flew out, chirping loudly, and I have not a doubt he told his friends many tales of his narrow escape, about the place where he had been, and the things he had seen.

One day a little girl three years old came to visit me. As she stood in the door looking at the birds, she certainly looked like a fairy direct from Fairyland, all dressed in white, with the whitest skin, cheeks like the pinkest roses, blue eyes like wood-violets, and curls like the brightest of gold. But Bobbinette and Bobby did not appreciate the picture, for they never were more frightened in their lives, and it was hours before they became used to her.

Dona Marina always knew when it was five o’clock, and time for Bobbinette and Bobby to have their supper of cracker and milk, and she would bring Blonde and Brunette and sit down in front of me, while Bobbinette and Bobby perched on the edge of the box, and I would give them each a piece as well as the birds. Then I taught them to sit up on their haunches like little bears and eat their crackers.

Blonde would often take her piece in one paw and eat it, and Brunette would take hers in both paws and put it into her mouth, while Dona Marina would sit up very straight with her little paws bent, and look first at one kitten, then at the other in a very proud way.

Now Bobbinette and Bobby have reached the dignity of having a little doll’s table and a chair of their own. They will stand up on their chairs and eat whatever I give them off of little butter-plates. If a meal worm is served, it is as good to them as a turkey dinner is to any of us.

Bobby was much more precocious with his singing than Cady. I worked many weeks with Cady before he would make a sound, but Bob began at once and has improved every day since.

One day late in the fall I took him down just to see if he would be afraid of the piano, but he was not in the least, and began to sing very softly. I meant to have looked up some new music for him, but he was ready before I was, so I began with the same old things Cady sung, and he seemed to like them just as well as Cady did. I have added to his repertoire that pretty little waltz song, “Love Comes Like a Summer Dream,” from the old opera, “Little Tycoon,” another waltz song, “I am Going Far Away, Love,” two parts from “When the Leaves Begin to Fall,” and a sweet lullaby.

A friend, who is a professional singer, came to hear him sing. I said to her: “I want you to listen to every note and tell me honestly just what you think of him.” He sang for a half-hour, only stopping while I changed the music. When we finished, she said: “I do not know which is the most marvellous, the pupil or the teacher. He is simply wonderful, never makes one discord, keeps perfect time, and carries the air as near as possible, and the little trills he puts in are simply bewitching.”

The lullaby he sings as soft and low as I do. What kind of a singer I am going to make of Bobbinette, time alone can tell. She will sing with me a little every morning up-stairs, but only twice have I been able to get her to sing down-stairs. I bring her down every day after Bob has had his singing lesson. Although she is such a fighter, she is very timid and nervous when down-stairs if there is any one there. She usually comes down on my shoulder, and I can feel every nerve in her body quiver as I lay my cheek against her.

When Bobbinette appears, Bob knows his lesson is over and that he can do as he pleases. He will go all over both rooms, perch on anything he sees fit, sing a little in a very low voice, come and look at Bobbinette and stand beside her on the perch. I have not given up getting them to sing a duet together. When Bobbinette sings up-stairs, Bob stops short, stands on one leg, and listens to her with a look as much as to say: “What are you trying to sing for? I am the singer.”

As Bobbinette is a good listener, I still have hopes of her. She is so pretty and still keeps her baby look, and when she listens she cocks her head on one side and looks so interested, and will puff out her breast and open her bill as wide as she can. For a treat after their lesson, they have some sugar wafers. They prefer the champagne ones, as they have more chocolate in them. They get on my shoulder and take the wafer out of my mouth. Then they have milk (which they love) in a whiskey glass. Some days they have two or three Zante currants, of which they are very fond.

My mother has all of her meals served in the back parlour, and it is a great treat for Bobbinette and Bobby to have their singing lesson before luncheon, then they stay down until afterward.

They will not make friends with any one but me, but they will get as near my mother as they dare, and see what she has to eat, but will not take anything from her.

I was very much frightened the other day to see a hair sticking out of Bobbinette’s bill. I was more frightened when I pulled out an eighth of a yard and could get no more, as it seemed to be wound around the lower part of her tongue. It was rather a difficult task to hold the bird, take a magnifying glass, and open the bill and look down. After a half-hour’s work at the hair, gently pulling it from side to side, it became loose and came out. The next day Bob came to me holding one leg up. As I looked at him, I thought he in some way had gotten a rubber band around his leg. You can imagine my surprise, when I took him in my hand, to find, instead of a rubber band, his hind claw was wound around his leg and caught with the nail. How it ever got that way, I have not the least idea.

As I entered my room the other afternoon, I saw a picture that any artist might have been proud to paint. Dona Marina was lying stretched out full length on the foot of my bed, with her new baby kittens, Scozza and Fava, lying beside her; all were in Dreamland. On the brass rod at the foot perched Bobbinette and Bobby, the latter singing at the top of his voice, while Bobbinette listened.

I feel sure if John Burroughs knew my birds, he would change his mind about birds not thinking and reasoning.

Many people know birds and their habits in a wild state, but really know nothing of them as pets in the house.

I am told Mr. Burroughs does not advocate domesticating wild birds; neither do I, if they are old, well, and strong, but, on the contrary, if they are injured, and are only easy prey for small boys and cats, I firmly believe in taking them in and making them happy, which I think I have always succeeded in doing.

I have often taken birds in, expecting to let them go when they were large enough, but they simply would not, for they knew they would not know how to take care of themselves or hunt their food. For instance, if I had not brought Bobbinette and Bobby in, they would have been killed, and it would be very cruel to turn them out now after the luxurious lives they have lived for eleven months; besides, they are perfectly well, and happy as the day is long, and know no other life.

My pets are a great care, but the pleasure I receive from them more than recompenses me. I only hope you will all be so interested in my little sketches that you will “cry for more,” and then I shall be able to stop your crying.

THE END.

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