Before Sukey was a year old she had a trying illness, brought on by a too rich diet and too much dancing.
One of my brothers had been with us for the Christmas holidays, and had brought his little girl with him. It amused us to see Sukey dance, so we used to blow lightly on her feet, and she would spin round and round for us. After a while her feet became purple and inflamed, and she went lame.
I put her in a basket, covered her up carefully, and took her to our kind family physician. He gave me an antiseptic wash, helped me bathe her claws and tie them up, for by this time they were very sore, and had turned black.
Sukey took this affliction so much to heart that she moped and would not eat. I had no intention of losing her, so I made pills of seeds and rolled oats and slipped them down her throat. In a short time she got well, but unfortunately lost two of the claws on one of her red feet. I cut short her supply of hemp seeds, for I had been too indulgent in the past. It is strange what a passion almost every bird has for this oily, rich seed. Even birds too small to crack it will eat voraciously of it when it is crushed.
CHAPTER XV
PIGEONS AND HAWKS
As Sukey grew older her indifference to other birds became stronger. I never saw her watch a bird or follow its motions with any interest, unless it was to get out of the way of a larger bird that she was afraid of, or to aim a blow at a little one that came too near her. She had identified herself with human beings; and if there were none near her, she drew her head into her hood and sat meditatively waiting for one to come along and play with her.
As she felt so keenly on the subject, I only allowed her to pay flying visits to the downstairs aviary. All winter, when she could no longer go out on the veranda, she trotted about the room I had given her, or sat buried in meditation on a box high up on the wall. That was her room, her big bed, her box, her pincushion, and her sunny window. She had driven me from it, though at first I had been willing enough to share it with her. She used to sleep at my feet, but when she developed an amusing but tiresome habit of waking up every morning at daylight, trotting up to the head of the bed and ordering me to play with her, I chose another room. She often visited me there, and when I was confined to my room by a cold, she always spent the day with me along with my books and newspapers. When my tray came up she was always excited and interested, and trotting up to it, examined it carefully. She particularly liked creamed toast and my little dish of butter.
One day I heard an outcry in the dining-room below, and found that she was being driven from the family butter plate there. When I hurried downstairs in the morning, fearful of being late at family devotions, I would often hear her coming after me, step by step, her little claws sounding plainly as she hopped, not flew down. She never used to fly unless obliged to do so to catch up with us. We did not fly, and identified with us as she was, she preferred our means of locomotion. While prayers were going on she sat demurely on a sofa back, occasionally murmuring “Rookety cahoo!” After breakfast she flew to my shoulder and descended with me to the aviary, strutted over the earth floor, then followed me upstairs to her room.
My study was also a favorite place, and often as I sat writing I would hear a light footstep, then a rush of wings, and Sukey was on my shoulder. After writing awhile I would look up at her and ask, “Do you approve of that sentiment, Sukey?” She always bowed her head politely, and this pigeon habit of bobbing the head was a great source of amusement to the neighbors’ children, who often called on her.