Notes from Field and Study
Inquisitive Magpies
I was collecting specimens of natural history in the northern part of the state of Washington, a few miles from the Canadian border. At the time the incident which I am about to relate occurred I was stopping at a ranch at the southern end of Okonogan lake.
The owner of the building was cramped for room, so, as it was during the heat of the summer, I spent the nights rolled up in my blankets under a haystack. One morning, as the sun was rising, I was awakened by shadows crossing my face, and opening my eyes saw a flock, possibly a family, of Magpies perched on the stack and ends of poles that had been thrown over it to keep the hay from blowing away. I watched them as they peered inquisitively at me from their perches, until finally one flew to the ground, then another and another, until at last several were gathered about me, but a few feet away. I lay on my side, with my arms under the blankets, and watched their actions. At last one jumped on the blankets at my feet. I could feel him hopping slowly upward. I did not move for fear of frightening him. Finally he reached my shoulder, and, after perching there a few seconds, flew to my cheek. I closed my eyes slowly, fearing he might peck them. After testing my cheek lightly with his bill, he began to get in some uncomfortably heavy blows, so I thought it time to stop him. Without opening my eyes, or moving, I said in a low tone. “ Here! Here! That will do!” He hesitated, as if to make sure his ears had not deceived him, and then flew to the stack. Another took his place, after working up in the same manner; he was quietly asked to move on. When the next one hopped on the blankets, I slowly raised my hand under them, making a tempting elevation, of which he was not slow to take advantage. He lighted squarely in the palm of my hand, which I closed at once, and held him prisoner. With the other hand I caught him by the legs from the outside, whereupon he flopped his wings, cried out with anger, and pecked at my wrist savagely. The remainder of the flock, which, in the meantime, had flown to the haystack, scolded and jabbered away at a great rate.
Evidently they had taken me for a corpse, but I think it was the liveliest one they ever saw.—J. Alden Loring, Oswego, N. Y.
Songs of Birds
The songs of birds have attracted a good deal of attention in recent years, and observation seems to confirm the theory that each generation of birds learns the song characteristics of its species by association with its own kind. This fact was brought quite clearly to my mind several years ago, when in a western town I was taken to a neighbor’s to see his birds. Four cages swung in the shelter of a commodious porch. One contained a Red-winged Blackbird, that had been taken from its nest when very young, and brought up by hand. His associates were a Canary, a Blue Jay and an Oriole. The Canary had been purchased at a bird store, and had there learned its song. The Blue Jay and Oriole had been taken from neighboring nests, and had, no doubt, picked up the characteristic notes of their species from the many other members of their kind that inhabited the vicinity, but it was many miles to the nearest swamp or low land where one might find a Red-winged Blackbird. This Red-wing had learned perfectly the notes of his caged companions, and had picked up some notes of other birds in the neighborhood, but not one note of the Red-winged Blackbird did he know.—Frank E. Horack, Iowa Citv, Ia.
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