Bird lore - Project Puffin

Oregon Notes 301
flock would become infected with her bad temper, and they would all fight
with bill and wing. I have often wondered if she ever found a mate, or if her
temper softened when mating-season drew near.
The Robins which remain in the mountains all winter (they may not be
our own but those nesting farther north) occasionally visit the outskirts of
town, and are fond of frozen apples, too, coming to our yard to feast on them.
No sooner would one begin to enjoy itself than the Grosbeaks would begin to
hunger for that particular apple, and drive the poor, meek bird away. Even
the little Juncos seemed prejudiced against them, and if one would try to
eat barberries, which the Juncos themselves disdained, they would surround it
and chase it away. However, when the Red-shafted Flickers visited us, the
Grosbeaks, as well as the Juncos, attended strictly to their own affairs and
kept their distance. Why, I do not know, unless they were afraid of the long,
sharp bills of the Flickers, for I never saw more peaceful birds.
After the Grosbeaks had become well established on our shelf, I became
possessed with the ambition really to tame them, and caught a miserable
cold standing in the open window, trying to get them to eat from my hand.
They would come to my hand, but never on it. After catching the cold, I hit
on another plan, and, sliding open the window, which opened sideways, I
scattered seed along the sill, and so lured the birds into the house to eat. Again
I tried to persuade them to eat from my hand, but, although they would take
the seed lying by it, they would never eat from it. Once when I was experi-
menting, only one bird, a male, seemed hungry, and he would hop in, take a
seed from the sill by my hand, hop outside to eat it and return for another one.
One bitterly cold day, I opened the window only about six inches. One
female, feeding longer than the rest, became bewildered and could not find
the opening, and flew to another window where I tried to pick her up. She
pecked me, so I let her go, and she flew into the dining-room and clung to a
basket in another window. There my mother picked her up and held her for
a minute in her hands. She sat perfectly quiet until the front door was opened,
then, as the cold air struck her, she made a spring for freedom; but mother
did not let her go until she reached the end of the porch. She flew from mother's
hands, seemingly not so much frightened as angry, and scolded all the way to
the box elders where the rest of the flock were feeding. I did not again coax
the birds into the house for fear one might alight on the range.
We have short days in our mountain-encircled valley, especially in winter,
when the sun drops behind the mountains a little after three. The Grosbeaks
always left about sundown, probably sleeping in the sheltering pines and firs
on the hills. They always returned early in the morning, however, as I well
remember.
We tried to photograph the birds, but only one picture was clear enough
to show what the birds were. One picture of the shelf was good, but the birds
were flown before the camera was snapped.