O hark to the brown thrush!
hear how he sings!
Now he pours the
dear pain of his gladness!
What a gush! and from out
what golden springs!
What a rage of
how sweet madness!
D. A. WASSON.
“Flutterbudget” is the
one expressive word that exactly characterizes a certain
brown thrush, or thrasher, the subject of a year’s
study. This bird is perhaps the only restless
creature that bears the name of thrush, and he is
totally unlike the rest of his family, having neither
dignity, composure, nor repose of manner. My brown
thrush, however, was exceedingly interesting in his
own way, if only as a study of perpetual motion, of
the varieties of shape and attitude possible to him,
and the fantastic tricks upon wing of which he was
capable. One never tired of watching him, for
he was erratic in every movement, always inventing
some new sort of evolution, or a fresh way of doing
the old things, and scarcely a moment at rest.
A favorite exercise was flying across the room, planting
his feet flatly against the side wall, turning instantly
and flying back. This he often did a dozen times
in succession. His feet were always “used
to save his head” (contrary to our grandmothers’
teachings). When he made the usual attempt to
fly through the window on his first outing in the
room, he went feet first against it, and thus saved
himself a bumped head. His movements were abrupt
in the extreme, and always so unexpected that he frequently
threw the whole feathered family into a panic, apparently
without the least intention of doing so. Standing
beside the cage of another bird, he would wheel quickly
and face the other way, absolutely nothing more, but
doing this in a manner so startling that the occupant
of the cage scolded roundly. He specially delighted
in clambering all over the cage of a goldfinch, acting
as if he should tear it in pieces, and greatly annoying
the small bird. He often flew up the side of
the window casing, as though climbing it like a ladder,
his feet touching it now and then; and he did the same
on the curtains of coarse net. Again he flew
across the room before the three windows, turning
to each one in turn, planted his feet squarely on the
linen shade, as on the wall above mentioned, and without
a pause passed to the end of the room, and touched
it with his feet in the same strange way. Often
when standing for the moment perfectly still before
a window, he suddenly flew up, put both feet in this
unbirdlike way against the window-shade, turned and
went to his cage. In like manner he came in contact
with a cage, the books on the shelves, the back of
a chair, or any piece of furniture, taking from that
point a new direction. When startled he instantly
bounded into the air as though the ground were hot
under his feet, and often turned a corner or two before
he came down. In the middle of his most lovely
song he was quite likely, without the least warning,
to make a mad dash somewhere, turn a sharp corner,
dive in another direction, and alight on the spot
he had left a moment before, and all in so spasmodic
a way that every bird was panic-stricken.
The thrasher was exceedingly wary,
and nothing was droller than his manner of approaching
anything, whether a worm I had thrown on the matting
for him, or the bathing-dish. In the case of the
worm, the moment he saw his prey which
I selected for its liveliness he came to
a nearer perch, and stood there a few minutes, posturing,
shaking his plumage in great excitement, looking at
me and then at the tempting object. Very soon
he dropped to the floor and started towards the worm
in the funniest way; running a few steps, stopping
short and turning half round, ready for instant flight,
flirting his feathers with a great rustle, turning
an anxious eye on me, then on the wriggling attraction,
running a step or two, and repeating the performance.
In this way he advanced very gradually till near enough
to half encircle his prey; or to run and hop sideways
as though to describe a circle, turning away at each
pause as before, all the time jerking and fluttering
in intense agitation, and always keeping an eye on
me. Not that he was in the least afraid of me;
it was simply his sensational way of doing everything.
When he finally came within reach of the worm, he
snatched it, and ran as though the enemy were upon
him.
His performances before entering the
bath were even more amusing. The bathing-dish,
a broad, deep plate, stood upon a towel on a table.
The bird alighted on the table, and began first to
peck the towel, pulling the fringe, working at any
loose thread he discovered, and industriously enlarging
any small hole he chanced to find. In doing thus
he often turned over the edge, when he sprang back
as though he had seen a ghost. Recovering from
the shock, he circled around the dish with little hops,
occasionally giving a gentle peck at the edge of the
dish, or a snip at the water with his beak. Thus
he waltzed around the bath perhaps forty times, now
and then going so far as to jump up on the edge, make
a dash at the water, and back off as if it were hot,
or to give a hop into the middle of the water and
out again so quickly that one could hardly believe
he touched it. When, after all this ceremony,
he did go in to stay, he made most thorough work,
splashing in a frantic way, as though he had but a
moment to stay, and in one minute getting more soaked
than many birds ever do. After this short dip
he dashed out, flew to a perch, and in the maddest
way jerked and shook himself dry; pulling his feathers
through his beak with a snap, and making a peculiar
sound which I can liken only to the rubbing of machinery
that needs oil.
The brown thrush was never so violent
and eccentric in movement as just after his bath.
Allowing himself often but a moment’s hasty shake
of plumage, he darted furiously across the room, startling
every bird, and alighting no one could guess where.
Then, after more jerks and rapid shakings, he flung
himself as unexpectedly in another direction, while
at every fresh turn birds scattered wildly, everywhere,
anywhere, out of his way, bringing up in the most
unaccustomed places; as, for instance, a dignified
bird, who never went to the floor, coming to rest under
the bed, or a ground-lover flattened against the side
of a cage. All this disturbance seemed to please
the thrasher, for he had a spice of mischief in his
composition. A never failing diversion was teasing
a goldfinch. He began his pranks by entering
the cage and hammering on the tray, or digging into
the seed in a savage way that sent it flying out in
a shower, which result so entertained him that I was
forced to close the door when the owner was out.
This the thrush resented, and he next took to jumping
against the side of the cage, clinging a moment, then
bouncing off with so much force that the cage rocked
violently. Then he placed himself on the perch
by the door, and pounded, and pulled, and jerked,
and shook the door, till, if the owner were home, he
was nearly wild. Having exhausted that amusement,
he jumped on the top and in some way jarred the cage
roughly. To protect it I made a cover of paper,
but, contrary to my intentions, this afforded the
rogue a new pleasure, for he soon found that by tramping
over it he could make a great noise, and he quickly
learned the trick of tearing the paper into pieces,
and uncovering the little fellow, who, by the way,
was not in the least afraid, but simply enraged and
insulted, and when outside stood and faced his tormentor,
blustering and scolding him well.
Tearing paper was always amusing to
the brown thrush. I have seen him take his stand
near the wall, peck at the paper till he found a weak
spot where it would yield and break, then take the
torn edge in his bill and deliberately tear it a little.
It was “snatching a fearful joy,” however,
for the noise always startled him. First came
a little tear, then a leap one side, another small
rent, another panic; and so he went on till he had
torn off a large piece which dropped to the floor,
while I sat too much interested in the performance
to think of saving the paper. (The room and its contents
are always secondary to the birds’ comfort and
pleasure, in my thoughts.) A newspaper on the floor
furnished him amusement for hours, picking it to pieces,
tearing pictures, from which he always first pecked
the faces, dragging the whole about the floor to hear
it rattle and to scare himself with. A pile of
magazines on a table made a regular playground for
him, his plan being to push and pull at the back of
one till he got it loose from the rest, and then work
at it till it fell to the floor. He never failed
to reduce the pile to a disreputable-looking muss.
The bird was as fond of hammering
as any woodpecker, on the bottom of his cage, on perches,
on the floor, even on his food; and his leaps or bounds
without the apparent help of his wings were extraordinary.
Not infrequently I have seen him spring into the air
just high enough to see me over my desk, three
feet at least, probably to satisfy himself
as to my whereabouts, and drop instantly back to his
work or play.
This amusing bird was also intelligent.
He understood perfectly well what I wanted when I
spoke to him; that is, he had a guilty conscience
when in mischief that translated my tone to him.
Also he recognized instantly a bird out of place,
as, for instance, one on the floor which usually frequented
the perches and higher parts of the room; and having
taken upon himself the office of regulator, he always
went after the bird thus out of his accustomed beat.
When I talked to the thrasher, he answered me not
only with a rough-breathing sound, a sort of prolonged
“ha-a-a,” but with his wings as well.
Of course this is not uncommon in birds, but none
that I have seen use these members so significantly
as he did. His way was to lift the wing nearest
me, sometimes very slightly, sometimes to a perpendicular
position, but only one wing, and only after I made
a remark. This exhibition was curious and interesting,
and I often prolonged my talk to see the variety he
could give to this simple motion. His wings were
always expressive, in alighting in a new place, or
where he suspected there might be danger or a surprise;
the moment his feet touched he lifted one or both
wings quite high, dropping them at once.
A more lithe body than that of the
brown thrush I have never seen in feathers; he could
assume as many attitudes as he had emotions. He
often stood on a perch and postured for a long time,
as if greatly excited and meditating some mad deed,
and I must confess he usually carried out the intention.
Not only was he able to put his body into all possible
shapes, but he had extraordinary command of his feathers.
He could erect them on any one part alone, on the
top of the head, the shoulders, the back, or the chin.
He often raised the feathers just above the tail,
letting that member hang straight down, giving him
the appearance of being chopped square off.
The song of this bird is well known
and quite celebrated; indeed, in the Southern States
he is called the French mocking-bird, as only second
to the mocking-bird proper. My bird never sang
above a whisper, one may say; that is, he never opened
his mouth to let out the sound, though he was extremely
fond of singing, indulging in it by the hour.
He hardly paused for eating, or flying, or hopping
around on the floor, but dropped sweet notes in between
the mouthfuls, and kept up the warble through all
movements.
As dusk came on the brown thrush began
a wonderful series of postures, more peculiar and
varied than one would suppose possible to so large
and apparently clumsy a bird. Sometimes he stretched
up very tall, then instantly crouched as if about
to spring; one moment he turned his head downward
as though to dive off, then wheeled and faced the other
way; now he drew his body out long to a point, head
and tail exactly on a level, then head and tail thrust
up, making his back the shape of a bow; at one time
he threw his head back as though about to turn a back
somersault, then scraped his bill, shook himself out,
and made the harsh breathing I have spoken off; in
another moment he spread his tail like a fan, and
instantly closed it again; then turned his head on
one side very far, while his tail hung out the other
side, and in this odd position jerked himself along
by short jumps the whole length of his perch.
Between the postures and on every occasion he scraped
his bill violently. Next began movements:
first he ran down his three perches, across the floor,
and hopped to the upper one from the outside, touching
his feet to the wires as he went, so rapidly that my
eyes could not follow him; then he alighted on the
perch with a graceful flop of one wing, sometimes
also bowing his head several times, and uttering the
breathing sound each time. Again he jumped from
the upper perch to one directly under it, and returned
the same way by a very peculiar motion: standing
on the lower perch, he turned his head over his shoulder,
and sprang back and up at the same time, landing in
exactly the same position on the perch above, with
perfect ease and grace.
Nothing pleased the thrasher more
than watching other birds; he observed them closely,
especially liking to stand on top of a cage and see
the life below, an agitated life it was
apt to be when he was there. Thus he sometimes
stood on the goldfinch’s cage and noticed every
motion with great interest, yet with an indescribably
ironical air, as if he said, “My dear sir, is
that the way you eat?” He showed particular
interest in seed-eating birds, apparently not understanding
how they could enjoy such food. Though full of
bluster and pretense, he was as gentle as any bird
in the room, never presumed on his size as the biggest,
and, though liking to tease and worry, never really
touching one. The smallest only needed to stand
and face him to see that it was all bluster and fun.
All this until spring began to stir
his blood and tempt him occasionally, after long posturing
and many feints, to deliver a gentle dig at a neighbor’s
ribs. Now, too, he began to show interest in
out-of-doors, standing on the window sash and looking
out, which is a familiar sign that a bird’s
time to depart has come. In his case I did not
consider it necessary to carry him to the park to liberate
him, for I was sure he could take care of the sparrows
and protect himself and so it proved.
When he found himself suddenly on a tall tree in the
street, and before he recovered from his surprise,
those disreputable birds gathered around him to see
what he was like. They soon found out; he quickly
recovered himself, made a wild dash that scattered
them like leaves before the wind, and then planted
himself on a branch to await another attempt.
But sparrows, though saucy, are knowing, and not one
came near him again. They had quite satisfied
their curiosity, and after a few moments’ waiting
the brown thrush went on his way rejoicing.