THE JACKDAW.
To procure a raven, an order to a dealer is almost necessary; but every boy should be ashamed if he cannot catch a young jackdaw for himself. These quaint birds make their nests in all kinds of places, especially affecting old buildings, such as church towers, ruins, or colleges. There is hardly an ancient church throughout the kingdom where a basketful of young jackdaws could not be obtained within half an hour, and old ruins positively swarm with them. It is curious to see how birds of such different habits as jackdaws, owls, pigeons, and starlings will roost amicably in the same locality, not appearing to have the least distrust of each other, or making half the fuss about their dwelling-places that is created nightly by the sparrows when settling to rest.
Failing ruins and towers, he will take possession of deserted rook-nests; and in cases of great distress, when the country is wide, where men will not build towers, where rooks and crows will not build nests, he is forced to fly for succour to the sea-shore and the warren, and make his home with the gannets and the rabbits.
Many a person has been surprised, on looking into a deserted rabbit burrow, to find it choked up with a strange mass of sticks and twigs, and still more surprised when he has brought to view a couple of jackdaw’s eggs, or hears the hungry cries of the young birds. This seeming alliance of the rabbit and the jackdaw is not unique, for it is observed in the Coquimbo owl, or burrowing owl, as it is sometimes called, and the prairie dog of North America, both of which reside within the same warren, and seem perfectly satisfied with each other’s company.
The sea-birds, too, receive the jackdaw into alliance, and whole colonies of these grey-hooded birds may be seen hovering about the lofty cliffs that bound our coasts, crying “Jack! Jack!” in inharmonious chorus with the sea-birds’ wail.
Sometimes a young and too artless bird leaves its nest before it is rightly able to use its wings, and is unable to ascend to the summit of the cliffs, flapping idly about the shore, driven nearer and nearer to the rocks by the advancing tide. The whole colony is roused by the misfortune. They wheel about in the air over the unfortunate bird with cries of distress; they do their best to encourage it to ascend; but their endeavours are all in vain. Time after time it aims at gaining the summit of the cliff, but strikes against the rock, and falls again to the sands.
In some spots it contrives to gain an elevated perch, and then waits the ebb of the tide; but in those places where the rocks afford no resting-place within a moderate distance of the water’s edge the fate of the poor bird is sealed.
Jackdaws are very easily tamed, and become very talkative, after their fashion. Their vocabulary is, however, limited, and is mostly restricted to the word “Jack,” which is uttered on every imaginable occasion. If the bird sees its master coming, it calls “Jack!” in order to express its joy; if it does not see him, it calls “Jack!” in order to induce him to come. If it hears a strange noise, it uses the same remark by way of giving notice; and if it hears its own name, it thinks itself bound to repeat the word as a polite recognition.