Stories about the Instinct of Animals, Their Characters, and Habits

by Thomas Bingley

"Oh yes, Boys, plenty such, but it is now time to bring these Stories about Instinct to a close. I am therefore going to conclude by narrating one or two stories about the affections of animals. I wish to impress your minds with feelings of kindness towards them, and I think that the best way to do so is to exhibit them to you in their gentleness and love; to show you that they too partake of the kindlier emotions by which the heart of man is moved, and that the feelings of maternal affection, and of friendship, and of fidelity, are as much the prerogatives of the lower animals as they are of man himself. Perhaps one of the most amiable lights in which the affections of animals are exhibited is their love and attachment to their offspring. You have all seen how regardless of danger a domestic hen, one of the most timid and defenceless of animals, becomes when she has charge of a brood of chickens. At other times she is alarmed by the slightest noise—the sudden rustle of a leaf makes her shrink with fear and apprehension. Yet, no sooner do her little helpless offspring escape from the shell, than she becomes armed with a determination of which even birds of prey stand in awe."

"Oh yes, Uncle Thomas, I have often seen a hen attack a large dog and drive it away from her chickens."

"It marks the wisdom of the omnipotent and all-wise Creator, Boys, that he has implanted in the hearts of each of his creatures the particular instincts which were necessary for their safety and protection. Thus, in the case I have just spoken of, the instinctive courage with which the mother is endowed, you will find to be the best security which could have been devised. In some other birds this instinct exhibits itself in a different way. If you happen to approach the nest of the lapwing, for instance, the old birds try every means to attract your attention, and lure you away from the sacred spot. They will fly close by you, and in an irregular manner, as if wounded; but no sooner do they find that their stratagem has been successful, and that you have passed the nest unobserved, than they at once take a longer flight, and soon leave you behind."

"How very singular, Uncle Thomas! Does the lapwing defend its young with as much courage as the hen?"

"I am not aware that it does, Frank, though I think it is not at all unlikely. As its instinct teaches it to finesse in the way which I have told you, however, I should not expect to find that it does so with equal spirit. Even the pigeon, the very emblem of gentleness and love, boldly pecks at the rude hand which is extended towards its young, during the earlier stages of their existence. If you come by chance on the brood of a partridge, the mother flutters along, as if she were so much wounded that it was impossible to escape, and the young ones squat themselves close by the earth. When by her cunning wiles she has led you to a little distance, and you discover that her illness was feigned, you return to the spot to seek for the young, and you find that they too are gone: no sooner is your back turned than they run and hide themselves in some more secret place, where they remain till the well-known call of the mother again collects them under her wing.

"I lately heard a most interesting story of the boldness of a pair of blackbirds in defence of their young. A cat was one day observed mounted on the top of a railing, endeavouring to get at a nest which was near it, containing a brood of young birds. On the cat's approach the mother left the nest, and flew to meet it in a state of great alarm, placing herself almost within its reach, and uttering the most piteous screams of wildness and despair. Alarmed by his partner's screams, the male bird soon discovered the cause of her distress, and in a state of equal trepidation flew to the place, uttering loud screams and outcries, sometimes settling on the fence just before the cat, which was unable to make a spring in consequence of the narrowness of its footing. After a little time, seeing that their distress made no impression on their assailant, the male bird flew at the cat, settled on its back, and pecked at its head with so much violence that it fell to the ground, followed by the blackbird, which at length succeeded in driving it away. Foiled in this attempt, the cat a short time after again returned to the charge, and was a second time vanquished, which so intimidated her that she relinquished all attempts to get at the young birds. For several days, whenever she made her appearance in the garden, she was set upon by the blackbirds, and at length became so much afraid of them, that she scampered to a place of security whenever she saw them approach."

"That was very bold indeed, Uncle Thomas. Birds seem to be all very much attached to their young."

"Very much so, Harry; but perhaps not more so than many quadrupeds. Here is a story of the squirrel's affection, which, though it does not exhibit an instance of active defence against its enemies, affords one of endurance equally admirable.