A little Woodpecker am I,
And you may always know
When I am searching for a worm,
For tap, tap, tap, I go.

Oh yes, I am proud of my appearance, but really I am not proud of my name. Sometimes I am called the “Zebra Bird,” on account of the bands of white and black on my back and wings. That is a much prettier name, I think, than the Red-bellied Woodpecker, don’t you? Certainly it is more genteel.

I know a bird that is called the Red-eyed Vireo, because his eyes are red. Well, my eyes are red, too. Then why not call me the Red-eyed Woodpecker? Still the Woodpeckers are such a common family I don’t much care about that either.

In the last February number of Birds that saucy red-headed cousin of mine had his picture and a letter. Before very long the Red-cockaded Woodpecker will have his picture taken too, I suppose.

Dear, dear! If all the Woodpeckers are going to write to you, you will have a merry time. Why, I can count twenty-four different species of that family and I have only four fingers, or toes, to count on, and you little folks have five. There may be more of them, Woodpeckers I mean, for all I know.

Speaking about toes! I have two in front and two behind. There are some Woodpeckers that have only three, two in front and one behind. It’s a fact, I assure you. I thought I would tell you about it before one of the three toed fellows got a chance to write to you about it himself.

I am not so shy and wary a bird as some people think I am. When I want an insect, or worm, I don’t care how many eyes are watching me, but up the tree I climb in my zigzag fashion, crying chaw-chaw, or chow-chow in a noisy sort of way. Sometimes I say chuck, chuck, chuck! The first is Chinese, and the last English, you know. You might think it sounded like the bark of a small dog, though.

I am fond of flies and catch them on the wing. I like ripe apples, too; and oh, what a good time I have in winter raiding the farmer’s corn crib! I have only to hammer at the logs with my sharp bill, and soon I can squeeze myself in between them and eat my fill. I understand the farmer doesn’t like it very much.