CONTENTS
| Page | ||
|---|---|---|
| [Preface] | ||
| [Introduction] | ||
| Chapter | ||
| I. | “Who is Jack Miner?” | [1] |
| II. | My First Pets | [4] |
| III. | Market Hunting | [6] |
| IV. | Our Faithful Dogs | [8] |
| V. | Bob White Quail | [10] |
| VI. | Raising English or Ring-necked Pheasants in Canada | [19] |
| VII. | The Natural Enemies of our Birds | [22] |
| VIII. | Some Things I have Known Cannibal Birds to Do | [25] |
| IX. | Weasels, and How to Destroy Them | [31] |
| X. | Robins | [36] |
| XI. | The Bluebirds | [41] |
| XII. | Woodpeckers | [45] |
| XIII. | The Swallow Family | [47] |
| XIV. | Wild Duck Hunting | [52] |
| XV. | Knowledge and Ways of the Wild Duck | [58] |
| XVI. | Do Birds Return to Their Same Homes? | [63] |
| XVII. | Birds as Missionary Messengers | [68] |
| XVIII. | How Wild Ducks Conceal Their Nests | [72] |
| XIX. | My Last Distinguished Family of Pet Ducks | [75] |
| XX. | Ducks’ Love Soon Ceases | [79] |
| XXI. | The Migration of Ducks | [81] |
| XXII. | Can Birds Smell? | [88] |
| XXIII. | The Canada Goose | [92] |
| XXIV. | Nesting Canada Geese | [109] |
| XXV. | Our Model Canada Goose | [113] |
| XXVI. | Do Birds Have a Language? | [118] |
| XXVII. | The Career of Jack Johnson | [123] |
| XXVIII. | The Migration of Our Canada Goose | [130] |
| XXIX. | Catching and Tagging the Wild Goose | [142] |
| XXX. | Game Protection | [147] |
| XXXI. | Creating a Bird Sanctuary | [151] |
| XXXII. | Our Native Swans | [158] |
| XXXIII. | The Line of Migration | [162] |
| XXXIV. | Inquiries and Answers | [163] |
| XXXV. | Sportsmanship | [172] |
| XXXVI. | Conclusion | [178] |
ILLUSTRATIONS
| Page | |
|---|---|
| Jack Miner Himself | [Frontispiece] |
| [Wild Geese at my Home] | |
| Looking Over Esau’s Line Fence at the Writer | [2] |
| Quail Self-serving Feed-rack | [12] |
| Hawk and Owl Trap | [13] |
| Shelter and Feeding place for Quail | [14] |
| Quail Egg-shells, After Hatching | [15] |
| Young Quail, Just Four Weeks Old | [17] |
| Eating from the Hand that once Held the Gun | [17] |
| Under Side of Weasel Trap and Harbor | [34] |
| Jasper Feeding the Robins | [39] |
| Snowball | [40] |
| Tile Bird Houses | [42] |
| “Why Didn’t You Knock Before You Opened the Door?” | [43] |
| The English Sparrows’ Victims | [44] |
| How the Woodpecker Gets the Worm | [46] |
| The Martin “Castle” | [51] |
| Old Duck and Young Waiting at the Gate | [60] |
| Katie Feeding out of My Hand | [64] |
| Polly and Delilah | [66] |
| Showing Both Sides of Aluminum Tags | [70] |
| Puzzle: Find the Duck’s Nest | [73] |
| Where the Duck’s Nest Was | [73] |
| Duck, with Young, Crossing the Field | [74] |
| The Mulberry Family | [76] |
| Map Showing Migration of the Ducks | [86] |
| The Canada Goose | [93] |
| Total Flock of Geese, 1909 | [99] |
| The Flock of Geese, 1910 | [100] |
| The Flock of Geese, 1911 | [102] |
| David and Jonathan | [103] |
| The Death of Jonathan | [104] |
| Geese Rising from the Pond | [106] |
| On Guard | [110] |
| A Gallant Veteran | [111] |
| With the Little Ones Between | [112] |
| Faithful After Death | [127] |
| Map Showing Migration of the Geese | [131] |
| The Indian Achimaya | [136] |
| Indian Woman, Fort George | [137] |
| Returned Duck and Goose Tags | [141] |
| My First Successful Catch of Wild Geese | [143] |
| A Big Catch in the Big Net | [145] |
| Children with Bird houses, Peterborough, Ontario | [150] |
| Geese in Flight at the North Pond | [152] |
| Geese on the South Pond | [153] |
| Scotch Pines | [156] |
| These were “Wild” Swans | [159] |
| Wild Wing-tipped Swans | [161] |
| Martin House | [169] |
| I Love the Birds, and They Have Come to Me | [175] |
| I Plant Roses, and They Arch My Path with Fragrant Bloom | [176] |
| But Best of All, I Love Boys, and Boys Love Me in Return | [177] |
PREFACE
Long and intimate acquaintance with the author of this book must be my apology for attempting to write a brief introduction. Meeting Jack Miner for the first time in 1888, I was at once impressed with his striking personality. I found myself instinctively attracted to him, and a cordial friendship sprang up between us, which grew in intimacy as the years passed. Although lacking in academic culture, his manner was decidedly urbane, and it was not long before I discerned beneath his rough exterior an enshrined soul.
Inheriting, as I did, a passion for dog and gun, I cultivated his friendship, and many delightful days have we spent together afield. I was a novice in woodcraft; he taught me to hunt and shoot. Many a bird fell to his gun for which I took full credit in those early days, until, on one occasion, when I had made, as I thought, a particularly clever kill, I glanced over my shoulder as I heard him say: “Good Shot, Doctor!” only to see him hurriedly slipping a shell into the smoking breech of his gun. I said: “Did you shoot, Jack?” and his face betrayed guilt as he replied: “Take more time, Doctor. If you hit a bird fair at that distance, you will have nothing to pick up!” I was shooting too soon, and of course missing. He had got on to my time, and was now and then dropping a bird, apparently to my gun, to give me confidence.
What impressed me most, perhaps, in the days of my novitiate was the determination with which he pursued a wounded bird. He would spend an hour ferreting out a cripple rather than leave it to die in misery, or become the prey of its natural enemies, owls, hawks or vermin. He invariably repiled the logs and brush he had dislodged in his efforts to retrieve a wounded bird. And this is but one evidence that a keen sense of justice, a full regard for the rights of all living creatures, are conspicuous traits in Jack Miner’s character.
Years passed. Until now he had held aloof from church and social life in the community. Then trouble came. Trouble, that so often floors the weak man, is the strong soul’s opportunity to reveal itself. Thus it proved in Jack Miner’s case. Death robbed his family circle of three of its members in a comparatively brief period of time. Of an exceptionally emotional and sympathetic nature, his grief was overwhelming. Something had to move, or break. Gradually he came over to the allies, and became active in social and Sunday school work. All his dormant virtues seemed bursting with life, and latent genius sprang into activity. He pursued his hobby of making friends with the birds with a zeal, as it were, begotten of despair. Steadily he plodded on in the face of financial burdens, in spite of the discouraging indifference of the many, and in defiance of the more malignant opposition of the few.