Most birds get used to certain dresses that a person wears, and usually are frightened when they see them in anything else, but Trinata was never afraid. Once I put on a large hat covered with pink roses, thinking surely that would frighten him, but he only tucked his head under his wing and went to sleep on my shoulder. Another time I put a rustly silk skirt over my head when he was on top, but not an inch did he budge. When dressing, he would often get inside my waist, and I would fasten it up, leaving just enough room for him to stick out his head. He did not mind soap and water in the least, and very often would perch on me while I was taking my morning bath, keeping up an incessant chatter through it all. He delighted in visitors, and would light on their hands without the least sign of fear, and one day he tried to perch on a gentleman’s bald head, but found it too slippery. Children all loved him, for he was not at all exclusive, and would let them handle him all they wished.
The rougher I played with him the better he liked it, and I would throw him here, there, and everywhere, but he would be back on me quicker than a flash. I do not believe many birds help make the bed in the morning, but Trinata used to try to, and seemed to think it great fun. He would fairly run from bottom to top and back again, never minding if sheets and blankets were thrown over him. When the day spread was put on, he was told to keep off, but he seldom obeyed, and would play a long time trying to pick up the embroidered pink flowers.
At that time two or three birds were brought into the hospital nearly every day. Some died from wounds, and some from starvation when I was unable to make them eat. One day I had a forlorn baby sparrow, a dainty yellowbird (not much larger than a bumblebee), and two baby Baltimore orioles. When night came, I felt like the old woman who lived in her shoe, for I had so many birds I didn’t know what to do.
I could not supply them all with separate baskets, so I took a large round one, all gilded, and filled it with cotton, then made little indentations so it looked like many little cots. First the strangers were put in, next Jack and Jill, and they all lay quietly, but, when it came to Trinata, there was a row. He evidently had no intention of sleeping with that motley crowd, and would not stay in one second. He knew his own basket, and would never sleep in any other, or have any bird sleep with him. In the morning one of the orioles was dead, but another a year old came to take its place. He was a beauty, but had been shot by some cruel, wicked boy. One wing was broken, so he could never fly again, and he had a bad sore, so for days I thought he could not live, but careful attention brought him out all right. I named him the Prince of Wales, and the other oriole the Princess, who turned out to be the biggest mischief you can imagine.
About that time a dear little chipmunk (whom I named McKinley) came to the hospital, and his life was made miserable by the Princess. She would steal his food, examine his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth with her long bill, and, when he would not be looking, would give his tail a good pull.
The morning of the Fourth of July was intensely warm, so I moved all the birds into the hall, where it was cooler. Trinata was put by himself, because if he was shut up in a cage with Jack and Jill, he would amuse himself by pecking them and not letting them get on any of the perches. If they would try, he would lift them up by the feathers of their heads, then throw them down on the bottom of the cage. Jack and Jill, then, were put in a cage with the Prince and Princess, and they all looked very sleepy when I darkened the hall and went out. Few people who keep birds, and especially wild ones, know that they like to be in the dark during the middle of the day, and it simply ruins a canary to be left in the sun all day long.
You may imagine my surprise when I returned to the hall an hour later to find the Prince in the cage alone. One of the birds had pried open the place where a food-dish had been, and Jack, Jill, and the Princess had gone through the shutter. The Prince probably realized he could not fly, so stayed at home. I never found any trace of Jack and Jill, but, after looking an hour, located the Princess. I had only had her about a week, and did not think she knew her name. As soon as she heard my voice, she answered, but was afraid to come down, as there were so many boys with firecrackers in the street. Finally she was frightened to the top of a very tall tree, where some robins chased her, and she flew blocks away. A hard thunderstorm came, and the rain fell in such torrents that I was sure I had seen the last of my pretty Princess. After having her liberty for hours, I thought I heard her voice in the next street. I went to the open window and called, “Princess.” She answered, and every time I called, the answer came nearer. Soon I saw her fly across the street and light on the roof of a house. I hurried over and held my hand as high as I could, when down she flew and lighted on my finger. I think it marvellous, her coming back, especially as she had been gone over four hours.
Taffy grew more and more jealous of Trinata every day, probably not liking it that I kept him with me so much of the time. He insisted upon staying in the hospital all day, and often there would be nine or ten birds loose in the room. Frequently he would be there hours before I knew it, and then I would not know if I did not happen to hear the bells on his collar. Then I would lift up the valance of the bed and find him stretched out full length, looking as happy and lamblike as though there was not a bird anywhere near. One day a lady saw him trying to catch a bird in the street, and she called out: “You silly cat, why don’t you go up-stairs where there is a room full of them?” He would never pay the slightest attention to the birds until I would come in the room, and Trinata would light on me. Then he would come up to me, wave his tail, and seem consumed with jealousy.
One evening when he saw Trinata on me, it seemed as if he could not contain himself any longer. He was like a wild tiger fresh from the jungle. I could not pacify him, so sent him down-stairs. At dusk I stood in my dressing-room door and saw Taffy sneak under my bed. I was called down suddenly and forgot him. When I went back a few moments later, I missed Trinata at once. When I could not find him, I remembered Taffy, and rushed down to look for him. He came up from the cellarway looking pleasant and happy. I took him directly up to my room and asked him about his little brother, Trinata. He rubbed against me, purred, and the fierce tiger had all left him. I took him down and said: “Taffy has not taken Trinata, for he never looks or acts like this when he is guilty.” In a few moments I was called out on the back stoop, and there sat Taffy with Trinata’s mangled remains before him. When he saw me, he began to cringe and crouch, and there was not the slightest doubt of his guilt. I never knew him to eat a bird before, and I feel sure, when he heard me calling him, he swallowed Trinata almost whole, thinking I would never find out where he went, and of course it made him deathly sick. Late that evening he came into my mother’s room. First he stood in the door. I did not notice him. He kept coming nearer and nearer, and finally jumped into my lap, putting both paws about my neck, and began loving me. For days he was in disgrace, and for two months he never entered my room.
He hated Trinata out of pure jealousy of me, so killed him. He has never noticed the other birds since, and sleeps quietly for hours, with any number flying about him.