Nothing so endears a bird to a human admirer as a frank exhibition of confidence. Overtures of friendship on the bird’s part may traverse all rules of caution and previous procedure, but henceforth there is a new relation established between them, bird and man, and the man, at least, is bound to live up to it. At the oncoming of a smart shower on Capitol Hill (before the “For Sale” days) the bird-man put into a fir-covered nook for shelter, and had not been there two minutes before a pair of Cassin Vireos entered for the same reason. They were not in the least disturbed by the man’s presence, but cheerfully accepted him as part of Things as They Are. Therefore, they proceeded to preen their dampened feathers at distances of four or five feet, while the bird-man sat with bated breath and glowing eyes. The birds roamed freely about the nook and once, I think, he made a grimace behind the bird-man’s back; for when they came around in front again, I judged she was saying, “Ar’n’t you the wag!” while he tittered in droll recollection.
Taken in Oregon. Photo by Finley and Bohlman.
CASSIN VIREO AT NEST.
These Vireos roam the half-open woods at all levels, like happy school children; and their childish curiosity is as little to be resented. If one hears a bird singing in the distance, he need only sit down and wait. Curiosity will get the better of the bird, and under pretense of chasing bugs it will edge over, singing carelessly now and then, by way of covering the inquisitive intent. At close range the song is stifled, and you feel for the ensuing moments as you do when you have overtaken and passed a bevy of ladies on a lonesome street, all hands and feet with a most atrocious swagger. Inspection done, the bird suddenly resumes the discarded melody, and you no longer have to “look pleasant.”
Taken near Tacoma. Photo by Dawson and Bowles.
BRIMFUL.
Like most Vireos, Cassin sings as he works; and, as he works a good deal of the time, albeit in leisurely fashion, he sings in tiny phrases, separated by unembarrassed intervals of silence, a sort of soliloquizing commentary on life, very pleasant to the ear,—Weé ee-tsiweéoo-tsoo psooi-petewer-ptir-sewtrs-piti-wee-sueeé-pisooor. But our schoolboy does not fully express himself in music so staid and delicate. He has at command a rasping, nerve-grating war-cry, possibly intended by Nature as a defense against cats, but used, as matter of fact, when the bird is in particularly fine spirits. The note in question may perhaps be fitly likened to the violent shaking of a pepper-box, a rattling, rubbing, shaking note, of three or more vibrations, ending in a little vocal flourish.
These Vireos swing a bulky basket from the lower or middle heights of oak trees, fir trees, alders, or saplings of various sorts. Usually no dependence is placed in cover, save that the ornamented nest corresponds roughly with its general surroundings of leaf, moss and lichen. In sheltered places, the texture of the nest is so well preserved that it may require close inspection the second season to distinguish it from a new nest. One such I examined, green with growing moss, and stark at the lowermost branch-tip of an unleafed cornel sapling, and I could not have determined its age save for a tiny weed-shoot germinating from the bottom of the cup.
Taken near Tacoma. Photo by Bowles and Dawson.
A DECORATED NEST.