The Bird Hospital

by Caroline Crowninshield Bascom

Another day he would not come to me when I put down my hand, but ran across the room. After trying for some time to make him mind, I got up and said: “Billee, I am going away and leave you,” and started out into the hall. He came chasing after me, and after that would always do it when I told him I was going to leave him. If I went out of my room and told him he must not go, he would sit on a chair by an open window, or play about on the floor for an hour, and never think of flying out of the window or going out of the door.

I succeeded far beyond my expectations with Taffy and Little Billee. It hurt me very much to be obliged to punish Taffy when he would spring at Little Billee, as Taffy and I had been devoted to each other for two years; still I did not want him to kill my baby bird. One day Little Billee was sitting on my knee dressing his feathers and going through all sorts of antics, while Taffy sat a few feet away, gazing at him with longing eyes. I called to my maid to bring Taffy and hold him on her lap, and then let Little Billee peck and bite his paws, ears, and nose, and a more astonished cat I never saw. After we let Taffy go, he was found sitting on the cellar stairs in a most dejected way, rubbing his nose with his paw. For several days we did the same thing, until Taffy was afraid at the sight of Little Billee. One morning Taffy came to bed with me, and lay on my arm, while Little Billee sat on my shoulder. Soon Taffy put his chin on my chin, and Little Billee came and sat close to my cheek. Finally Taffy became so sleepy, he turned over, went fast asleep, and Little Billee hopped down on his back, and we lay that way for some time. Almost every day after that Taffy would lie on my lap, and Little Billee would sit on his head, back, or on my knee, and dress his feathers. One day Little Billee had the impertinence, while I had them both on my lap, to reach out and peck Taffy in the eye. That was a little more than Taffy could endure, and he reached out his paw and struck at him. I could not get Little Billee to go near him for over a week, when they became very good friends again.

Little Billee enjoyed going down into the parlours to see visitors, but he gave them to understand, the first thing, they might look but not touch. He would entertain them by hopping all over me, kissing me in the mouth, and chirping at the top of his voice.

When it began to get dark, Little Billee did not want to be off from me a minute. If I had him down-stairs, and put him on the floor, he would hop and fly after me from room to room. Once I left him in the front parlour on a plant-jar, and went into the dining-room and was gone some little time. When I came back there was no Little Billee to be found. I called him by name and peeped to him, but I could not get an answer. As I went up-stairs, I called: “Where is my Little Billee?” And he said: “Chirp, chirp, chirp,” and I found him in my room eating his seeds and as happy as possible.

From then on, whenever he became tired of the parlours, he would go up-stairs, for he seemed to think my room his home. One day I watched him to see how he went. He hopped from step to step. When he reached the top, he flew into my room and lighted on the top of his cage.

Sometimes he waited for me at the top of the stairs, lying flat down, putting his head out just as a dog does his between his paws.

Little Billee certainly was not colour-blind, for he noticed every little change in my dress, no matter how slight it was. He had seen me for weeks in only my robe de nuit and wrapper. It was pitiable to see him the first time he saw me gowned in a white skirt and blue waist. I had to lie down when I had finished dressing, and Little Billee came over to the bed as usual and asked me to take him. I put down my hand, he hopped on my finger, but, when he looked up and saw the blue sleeve, away he went as if he had been shot out of a cannon. He tried several times, but his courage always failed. At last he gave up and went and sat in a chair across the room, and it was two days before he really liked the change.

Next I tried a pink waist with the white skirt, but that seemed even worse to him, which seemed very strange, as he had seen me for days in a pink and white wrapper.

One morning in November, I was trying my strength by doing a little dusting, after getting Little Billee’s cage ready for the day. He was unusually happy and lively, but thought it was high time we went back to bed, so kept flying from the top of his cage, which was near me, to the bed and back again, teasing me to go with him.

He was always afraid of anything white, and, not thinking, as he flew back to me, I picked up my large cheese-cloth duster by one end and spread the rest out like a flag. The window and blinds were wide open, and to get out of the way of the cloth, he flew out the window, probably not having the least idea where he was going. I called to our maid to run across the street and look for him, thinking he had gone that way.