Do you not often see a canary in a cage stretching his wings? What is that for? God gave him his wings for use. If the bird had been intended to hop through life he would have been differently constructed. I never put a bird in a cage so small that he cannot use these wings, and I always allow a caged bird the occasional privilege of flying about the room. At present I have no birds in cages. All are free. In the basement aviary they have fifteen feet by thirty-two of space. From it they enter the elevator that is twenty feet high and ascend to the roof-veranda and sun-room, where are fifteen feet by thirty-two.
Less space than this would do, but I have it, and give it to my birds that now only number forty-five, for I have allowed a number their liberty. Better than cages, better than aviaries is the broad blue sky, and the boundless fields; but of course, one cannot release delicate foreigners in our Northern climate.
CHAPTER XXI
LITTLE PETERS
Soon after starting my aviary I bought a pair of large green parrakeets, and consequently became interested in the whole parrot tribe. I found that there are two hundred varieties or more of the little tropical beauties called parrakeets or little Peters.
This first pair of mine I think, consisted of specimens of the all-green parrakeet or the tirika—a species inhabiting eastern Brazil. In that country these pretty green birds associate in countless flocks, disporting themselves in the forest or swooping down on maize and rice fields.
The lady in Halifax from whom I bought these, said that she found it impossible to keep them in a cage. They would break out and invariably amuse themselves by gnawing the plaster from the walls of the room they were in. At first they did not like me. Parrots, we all know, are narrow in their affections, and rarely like more than one person at a time. They threw me suspicious glances and absolutely refused to be separated from each other. If one flew across the aviary the other uttered a piercing scream, then flew after him.
I took great interest in watching them. They seemed to have quite an amount of individuality, and to be very unlike other birds, both in appearance and in habits. Their hooked beaks, curious claws, awkward gait, their gorgeous plumage, and their queer ways, set them in a class by themselves. They never mingled with birds outside their family. They were my exclusive set.
Parrakeets are not recommended for aviaries on account of their wicked beaks that can so easily break the legs of small birds. This first pair did not trouble me by meddling with other birds, nor did subsequent pairs that I obtained. They always ignored the other inhabitants of the aviary. My parrakeets and doves were all very much wrapped up in themselves, and rarely meddled with their companions, unless they transgressed bird etiquette by pressing close to them.
Most unfortunately, one of these tirikas was found dead a few months after I obtained them. There was a mystery surrounding his death, and I think it must have been the result of an accident. I was so sorry for the lonely survivor, that I took him up to my own room, where he soon became so tame and so lazy that he would not feed himself, but called to me to put favorite morsels in his beak. Rowdy I called this one, and after I had him a little longer I bought a pair of the best known of all the little peters—undulated grass, or shell parrakeets. These Australians were beautiful grass-green and yellow birds, about as large as canaries, but with very long tails. They are often called love-birds, but they are not true love-birds. Genuine love-birds are natives of Africa, and have short tails.