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Birds and All Nature, Vol. V, No 1, January 1899

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<h2>THE SAND-HILL CRANE.</h2> THE sandhill crane is so often confused, in the popular mind, with the great blue heron, that it may not be amiss to suggest the real differences between them. We should first remember that the crane is not found east of Illinois, except casually or accidentally, but is numerous from Illinois westward to the western border of the plains during the migrations. It ranges as far north as Manitoba. The great blue heron is pretty evenly distributed over the whole of North America. The cranes usually, if not always, migrate in greater or lesser flocks, alternately circling upward to considerable heights and sailing straight away, with both soaring and flapping motion, and with prodigious croakings. The herons migrate singly or in pairs, with long, steady sweep of the wings, and make no outcry. Close at hand the two species would hardly be confused by an ordinarily careful observer, but these large birds are rarely seen close at hand. The feeding habits of the two birds are very similar, and to this superficial similarity is largely due the confusion, I suspect. Both wade into the water searching for some hapless frog or toad, often standing motionless for minutes at a time until the victim comes within range of the sharply-pointed beak, when a lightning-like movement of the head sends the beak completely through the creature, killing and capturing it with one stroke. The long legs and neck are admirably adapted to this kind of fishing. Colonel N. S. Goss describes the courting antics of these ungainly birds as extremely ludicrous at times. A veritable Indian war dance, in fact, in which the females join heartily, and like the war dance, stopping only when the last participant falls down with exhaustion. It seems to be a sort of promiscuous wedding ceremony for the whole company. The crane nests on the dry, flat prairie, usually scraping together some wisps of dry grass, but often with not even this poor excuse for a nest. Here two to four drab-brown colored, rough-shelled eggs are laid and the young reared. Size seems to be the only criterion which determines what the crane may eat. Perhaps it might better be said, what he will swallow. He seems to relish stones, pocket-knives, steel nails and the like fully as well as the choicest bit of frog or toad. Like many other birds, however, he regurgitates the indigestible matter, and so takes no harm from this promiscuous diet. Many of us may have reason to envy him this capacity. Dr. P. L. Hatch, in his "Birds of Minnesota," gives an interesting description of the fighting qualities of a pet crane which he offered to pit against any and all canines, one at a time. One valiant mastiff, which essayed to do battle with his craneship, entered the ring with all the confidence of an unbroken record of victories, but a moment later he "stayed not on the order of his going," carrying with him the exact pattern of the crane's beak. No other canines ever volunteered for a similar service. <hr class="chap" /> [Pg 48] <h2> THE STORY OF LITTLE BILLEE.</h2> (Continued from Page 44.) I have succeeded far beyond my expectations with Taffy and Little Billee. It hurt me very much to be obliged to punish Taffy when he would spring at Little Billee, as Taffy and I had been devoted to each other for two years; still I did not want him to kill my baby bird. One day Little Billee was sitting on my knee dressing his feathers and going through all sorts of antics, while Taffy sat a few feet away gazing at him with longing eyes. I called to my maid to bring Taffy and hold him on her lap, and then let Little Billee peck and bite his paws, ears, and nose, and a more astonished cat I never saw. After we let Taffy go he was found sitting on the cellar stairs in a most dejected way rubbing his nose with his paw. For several days we did the same thing until Taffy was afraid at sight of Little Billee. One morning Taffy came to bed with me, and lay on my arm while Little Billee sat on my shoulder. Soon Taffy put his chin on my chin, and Little Billee came and sat close to my cheek. Finally Taffy became so sleepy he turned over, went fast asleep, and Little Billee hopped down on his back, and we lay that way for some time. Since then almost every day Taffy will lie on my lap, and Little Billee will sit on his head, back, or on my knee and dress his feathers. One day Little Billee had the impertinence, while I had them both on my lap, to reach out and peck Taffy in the eye. That was a little more than Taffy could endure, and he reached out his paw and struck at him. For over a week I could not get Little Billee to go near him, but now they are very good friends. Little Billee enjoys going down into the parlors to see visitors, but he gives them to understand, the first thing, they may look but they must not touch. He will entertain them by hopping all over me, kissing me in the mouth and chirping at the top of his voice. When it begins to get dark Little Billee does not want to be off from me a minute. If I have him down stairs and put him on the floor he will hop and fly after me from room to room. The other day I left him in the front parlor on a plant jar and went into the dining-room and was gone some little time. When I came back there was no Little Billee to be found. I called him by name and peeped to him, but I could not get an answer. As I went upstairs I called, "Where is my Little Billee?" And he said, chirp, chirp, chirp; and I found him in my room eating his seeds and as happy as possible. Since then every day when he gets tired of the parlors he goes upstairs, for he seems to think my room is his home. One day I watched him to see how he went. He hopped from step to step. When he reached the top he flew into my room and lighted on the top of his cage. Little Billee is certainly not color-blind, for he notices every little change in my dress no matter how slight it is. He had seen me for weeks in only my robe de nuit, and wrapper. It was pitiable to see him the first time he saw me gowned in a white skirt and blue waist. I had to lie down when I had finished dressing and Little Billee came over to the bed as usual and asked me to take him. I put down my hand, he hopped on my finger, but when he looked up and saw the blue sleeve away he went as if he had been shot out of a cannon. He tried several times but his courage always failed. At last he gave up and went and sat in a chair across the room, and it was two days before he really liked the change. Next I tried a pink waist with the white skirt, but that seemed even worse to him, which seemed very strange, as he had seen me for days in a pink and white wrapper. My numerous friends will vouch for the veracity of the story, as they all think Little Billee is the most wonderful bird they have ever seen. I only hope my little sketch, told just as the things have come to me, will give similar pleasure to other invalids. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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