Another bird was fond of playing jokes of a different kind on the house dog. It would whistle and call out in a soft tone,
"Gyp, poor old Gyp! Does Gyp want to go out?"
The dog, delighted at the prospect of a run with its master, would begin to frisk and dance about, looking around to see where he was. This got to be a common trick with the bird, for the dog never found out that it was being tricked by the parrot.
OTHER TALKING BIRDS
Many of my readers must know that there are other birds that can talk, some of them as well as the parrot. Those who may have read the novel of "Barnaby Rudge," by Charles Dickens, are likely to remember the Raven of that story, with its "Never say die."
A very famous bird of this kind is Poe's raven, told of in the poem of that name, whose one word was "Nevermore."
These are birds of fiction and poetry but there are talking ravens in the annals of fact. There was one, some years ago, at home in a tavern at Stoke Newington, England, who could not bear gray or white horses, though it did not mind any other color. No sooner would a horse of the hated color come up to the water-trough for a drink than Peg would perch on the edge of the trough and swear lustily at the poor animal. Or else it would start it off with a loud "Gee, whoa," in the exact tones of a carter.
One day Peg saw a sailor take some tobacco from a box at his elbow, put it in his mouth, and begin to chew. The bird watched him closely and seemed to fancy that this must be something good to eat, for the instant the man's back was turned she hopped up and took a mouthful of the weed. For the rest of that day Peg was a very sick bird, and even the next day was far from well.
She had learned a lesson which she did not forget. Some days later a white horse, drawing a hay cart, was driven up to the trough for a drink. Peg at once hopped up and began her abuse, but the horse had met the bird before and paid no attention to her impudence. At this she flew into the house where some men were smoking, caught up a paper of tobacco from the table, and flew back with it, dropping it into the horse's nose bag.
If a strange dog happened to stray up to the inn Peg was at once wide awake. Up she would skip, and when close to the dog's ear would shout in her loud, harsh voice, "Halloa, whose dog are you?" Before the cur could turn she would break out in a great show of rage and loud cries of "Hi! ho! go home!" which usually sent the intruder off up the street at a frantic rate.