Bird lore - Project Puffin

DURING
Pete: The Story of an Adopted Robin
By W^. H. MUNSON, Winona, Minn.
the first week after I adopted him, Pete accompanied me to
and from the laboratory each day; and during that time he learned
to pick up grains of sand, to flap his wings in mimic flight, to come to
me at call, to drink from a dropper. During the next week he learned to recog-
nize the difference between the appearance of the food-paddle and that of the
dropper. When he had had enough food he steadfastly refused any further
attention to the food-paddle, but when the dropper was presented he would
eagerly stretch out his neck to drink. He also flew each day during the second
week, always returning to me after each flight.
He took especial delight in a dust-bath, but much preferred the road-dust
to the dry earth of the garden. When he wanted his bath he would go through
some of the motions in his cage, and then stand and peep till I took him to the
road, where he would revel for half an hour or more.
Pete is a tyrant. If we do not attend to his wants immediately, his tender
little peep turns to a shrill staccato note that spells insistence in every sound.
Yes, he is a spoiled child, we know; but you must remember that he is the only
one in the family, and it is true that we have tried to anticipate his every need
before he even knew it.
One of his flights gave me palpitation of the heart. I took him out in the
morning for his exercise, and he flew up, up, over the trees, over the house, and
was gone out of sight. Quickly I followed his general direction, but could find
nothing of him. I went back to the house, put on a coat and hat, and explored
the neighborhood, but he was gone beyond reclaim. A full half-hour I bemoaned
my loss, and was giving up in despair, when out of the blue came a flutter of
wings, and Pete alighted on my shoulder, shrilling his peep, peep into my ear.
He was hungry and did not propose to wait another minute, nor did he. We
went to the house, and no hungry child ever evinced greater satisfaction in
eating than did this little bird.
Pete is a very wilful bird, and I am almost driven to say that he is intelligent.
One evening I had taken him to the street for his dust-bath, but he was hungry
and did not indulge himself very long. I had his food with me, and now and
then he made savage little flights or runs toward it. Repeatedly I put him back
in the dirt, scraped my finger around in it before him—that was the stimulus I
used to awaken his instinct—but he would ruflle his feathers just a little and
again dart for the food. I tossed him into the air to make him fly, for I felt
that if he were hungry when he flew, he would be sure to come back quickly,
but fly he would not. It was becoming dusk, so I finally fed him, and he awaited
no invitation to fly; but invitations to return were in vain. He would alight
not very far away, dust himself vigorously, but would not allow my close
approach as he always had before. I was fearful of losing him, but I am almost
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