The Australians naturally first came from Australia where immense flocks of them used to be captured while feeding on the seeds of tall grasses. From Australia to Europe was a long journey for them, and after a time bird-keepers found that they could easily raise these pretty creatures in aviaries. In a wild state they make nests in the holes of old trees, or in almost any cavity. In aviaries, if the husk of a cocoanut is given to them, or a hollow bit of wood, they will lay from four to seven white eggs, and soon hatch young ones.
They are lovable and affectionate, and while the female is on the nest her mate sits on a twig near-by and sings his best song, or rather he warbles to her, for they do not sing as other birds do, but make a chuckling, amusing little noise that sounds like talking.
I heard of this devotion of shell parrakeets, but my pair did not act in this way. They kept together a part of the time, but I felt convinced that if separated they would not die of grief. I soon made up my mind that they were two male birds, and this decision was confirmed by their actions when I one day had brought to me a pair of Madagascar love-birds. Now I saw my Australians in their true character. Their names were Big Eyes and Little Eyes, and as soon as Little Eyes saw Mrs. Madagascar he flew excitedly to meet her, followed her from tree to tree, and warbled and gabbled until he brought on a most ludicrous situation of affairs.
All summer we were treated to exhibitions of infatuation, impatience, jealousy, and resentment. Little Eyes was, of course, the infatuated one, Mrs. Madagascar was impatience personified, her mate was jealousy, and the neglected Big Eyes was resentment itself.
The little green Madagascars would sit pressed close to each other, parrakeet fashion, and Little Eyes taking care to get always, on the right side would slip up close to Mrs. Madagascar and warble soft invitations in her ear to leave her mate and come and play with him.
At first she would pretend not to hear, then she would get impatient and would gurgle an impatient aside to her mate, “What a rude bird—what does he want?”
At this Mr. Madagascar would wake up, lean over, and give Little Eyes a dab.
He did not care; sliding off for a minute he always returned. I often pointed out the comical sight to visitors to my aviary—the two Madagascars sitting, trying to sleep away the lovely warm days, Little Eyes in close attendance, whispering and warbling in the tiny green ear next him, and Big Eyes always in the background, grumbling angrily to himself that no one wanted him.
After I had had the Madagascars for some time they became troubled with overgrown beaks, and one morning I caught them and trimmed the beaks with a penknife. The Australians were nearly frantic to see that I had deprived them of their playmates, and flew about the veranda, chattering and screaming excitedly.
When I showed them the cage containing the Madagascars, they flew right up to it, and Little Eyes, whose love for Mrs. Madagascar had been made fonder by absence, shrieked something that sounded like, “Where have you been? speak! speak!”