Every Boy's Book: A Complete Encyclopaedia of Sports and Amusements Part 79

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THE GUINEA-PIG.

The guinea-pig, or restless cavy, is a prettily-marked, stupid, little animal, which came originally from South America, and has long been a favourite with most little boys, for when a boy becomes a youth he aspires to keeping something more interesting than these senseless little squeakers. Still it is a pretty sight to see the old ones followed by two or three litters, and to watch their antics when pleased, which consist of a squeak and a peculiar sharp turn, as if they tried to jump out of their skins, but could not, for they are fitted in too tightly for that. As for the use they are, why, they eat and sleep--

"Just do nothing all the day, And soundly sleep the night away."

It is, however, a pretty, harmless, little animal; but as a pet is far inferior to others that are more commonly kept. Though gentle and inoffensive in its manners, it seems incapable of feeling the slightest attachment for those who feed and caress it--even for its own offspring it evinces little or no affection: it will not only suffer them to be destroyed before its face, without making the smallest efforts to defend them, but will even at times devour them itself. For all useful purposes guinea-pigs are utterly valueless, though their flesh is used as an article of food in their native country; and their skins, notwithstanding the beautiful sleekness of their appearance, have as yet been turned to no account by the furrier. Their only recommendations, therefore, are the gentleness of their disposition, the cleanliness of their habits, and the beautiful colouring of their coats. In this latter respect they are very varied; black, white, bright reddish brown, and a mixture of the three, called tortoisesh.e.l.l, being the princ.i.p.al varieties. The latter are the most prized, particularly where the dark colours predominate.

In their native country they are generally of a pure white, with pink eyes, and it is nothing unusual to have one out of a litter white with pink eyes in this country.

Rats are supposed by many people to have a great antipathy to guinea-pigs, carefully avoiding the place where they are confined. Under this impression--which, however, is an erroneous one--they are frequently kept by fanciers in their rabbit-houses and pigeon-lofts, as a means of protecting their stock against the depredations of those rapacious vermin. They are allowed to run almost anywhere, and to s.h.i.+ft for themselves: no attention whatever need be paid to the feeding of them, the mere refuse scattered about the floor being sufficient for their subsistence.

When, however, they are kept for amus.e.m.e.nt, their cages are generally made precisely similar to the rabbit's hutch, only of rather smaller dimensions: their treatment, too, in most respects, is much the same as that pursued with regard to that animal. Their ordinary food should be oats given twice a day, and not too many at a time. They are also very fond of bran, which is a cheap diet; and they will fatten upon it, and keep healthy, if allowed plenty of exercise. Green meat should also form a portion of their usual diet, particularly the wild sorts, such as dandelions, sowthistle, plantain, &c.; tea-leaves they are remarkably fond of, but these should only be given them now and then by way of a treat; bread, also, they are very partial to, dipped in milk or water.

They are sold by all bird-fanciers; the prices varying from sixpence to half-a-crown, according to their age, colour, &c.: as before remarked, the dark rich-coloured tortoisesh.e.l.l ones are considered the most valuable.

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THE HEDGEHOG.

This, though a rough and p.r.i.c.kly customer to handle, is a clean little animal, and a great pet with country boys. If you have ever seen one--and they are commonly sold at the shops kept by men who call themselves bird-fanciers, or even hawked about the streets of London by countrymen--if you have seen one, you are aware that, saving the belly, they are covered with sharp spikes, and that when alarmed, or whenever they please, they have the power of rolling themselves up into a tight round ball, which shows nothing but spikes, and may be rolled along, like a cricket-ball, without causing the little animal to uncoil itself, while every spike is firm and erect as a needle, and almost as sharp.

While in this shape very few dogs can worry the hedgehog; and as for the fox, who is rather partial to him, true to his wily nature, he rolls the poor hedgehog along with his paws until he comes to a pool of water, when the hedgehog unrolls himself, exclaiming, no doubt, "Hey! why, what's this? I can't breathe!" and trying to peep about and see what's the matter, the fox, on the look-out, seizes him by the belly, and eats him all up, saving the spines. Were you to thrust a dozen pins with large heads through a piece of parchment, you would have an exact representation of the spines of the hedgehog, every one of which is retained inside the skin by the large pin-like head.

Some say that it sucks the cows, and draws off their milk; but this is absurd, as its mouth is not adapted for sucking. Its favourite food are insects and snails: it also feeds on frogs and mice, and will even kill a snake, and eat it all up, beginning at the tail. The way it kills a snake is very curious. It gives the snake a bite on the back, then rolls itself up like a ball, remaining still as a stone for some time, while the snake lashes and writhes about in agony; as soon as the snake is a little quiet the hedgehog gives him another sharp bite on the spine, and so continues until the snake is killed; then he begins at the tail, as the Rev. J. G. Wood tells us in his "Ill.u.s.trated Natural History," and eats him up "as one would a radish." In a natural state it sleeps all the winter, rolled up in a hole which it has filled with gra.s.s, moss, or leaves; and when domesticated, it will hide itself in some dark corner for weeks, and never once make its appearance, unless it chances to awake and feel hungry; then some day you will see it come creeping towards the fire, and be very glad to see it too. Hedgehogs are great destroyers of beetles, eating them up as quickly as you would a handful of raisins, and seeming fond of them. They need no looking after at all, but will take care of themselves, though it is as well to have a little hutch to put them into now and then. Their feeding-time is in the night; and if there are black-beetles in the kitchen, the best plan is to leave the hedgehog there, and let him devour all he can catch. They have four or five young ones at a litter, which are born blind. It is no uncommon sight to see a countryman with both old and young ones to sell.

You can buy a young hedgehog for sixpence, and an old one for a s.h.i.+lling, or less than that even. We know of no animal that is less trouble to keep, and in time it becomes so tame as to come out of its hiding-place when called.

THE JACKDAW.

To procure a raven, an order to a dealer is almost necessary; but every boy should be ashamed if he cannot catch a young jackdaw for himself.

These quaint birds make their nests in all kinds of places, especially affecting old buildings, such as church towers, ruins, or colleges.

There is hardly an ancient church throughout the kingdom where a basketful of young jackdaws could not be obtained within half an hour, and old ruins positively swarm with them. It is curious to see how birds of such different habits as jackdaws, owls, pigeons, and starlings will roost amicably in the same locality, not appearing to have the least distrust of each other, or making half the fuss about their dwelling-places that is created nightly by the sparrows when settling to rest.

Failing ruins and towers, he will take possession of deserted rook-nests; and in cases of great distress, when the country is wide, where men will not build towers, where rooks and crows will not build nests, he is forced to fly for succour to the sea-sh.o.r.e and the warren, and make his home with the gannets and the rabbits.

Many a person has been surprised, on looking into a deserted rabbit burrow, to find it choked up with a strange ma.s.s of sticks and twigs, and still more surprised when he has brought to view a couple of jackdaw's eggs, or hears the hungry cries of the young birds. This seeming alliance of the rabbit and the jackdaw is not unique, for it is observed in the Coquimbo owl, or burrowing owl, as it is sometimes called, and the prairie dog of North America, both of which reside within the same warren, and seem perfectly satisfied with each other's company.

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The sea-birds, too, receive the jackdaw into alliance, and whole colonies of these grey-hooded birds may be seen hovering about the lofty cliffs that bound our coasts, crying "Jack! Jack!" in inharmonious chorus with the sea-birds' wail.

Sometimes a young and too artless bird leaves its nest before it is rightly able to use its wings, and is unable to ascend to the summit of the cliffs, flapping idly about the sh.o.r.e, driven nearer and nearer to the rocks by the advancing tide. The whole colony is roused by the misfortune. They wheel about in the air over the unfortunate bird with cries of distress; they do their best to encourage it to ascend; but their endeavours are all in vain. Time after time it aims at gaining the summit of the cliff, but strikes against the rock, and falls again to the sands.

In some spots it contrives to gain an elevated perch, and then waits the ebb of the tide; but in those places where the rocks afford no resting-place within a moderate distance of the water's edge the fate of the poor bird is sealed.

Jackdaws are very easily tamed, and become very talkative, after their fas.h.i.+on. Their vocabulary is, however, limited, and is mostly restricted to the word "Jack," which is uttered on every imaginable occasion. If the bird sees its master coming, it calls "Jack!" in order to express its joy; if it does not see him, it calls "Jack!" in order to induce him to come. If it hears a strange noise, it uses the same remark by way of giving notice; and if it hears its own name, it thinks itself bound to repeat the word as a polite recognition.

It is a very vigilant bird, and is quite as useful as a watch-dog to those who wish to gain early intelligence of strange visitors. It is not nearly so mischievous as many of its compeers, but sits for the greater part of the day on some chosen perch, and thence surveys the objects around. A pa.s.sing bee or beetle, however, immediately arouses its energies: it pounces on them with unfailing certainty, batters them to a shapeless pulp against a stone, and swallows them leisurely. It will also catch mice, kill them by severe blows of the beak upon the head, pull them to pieces, and eat them systematically, rejecting the skin as indigestible and unsavoury.

As a general rule, it should be left out of the way of water; for it is a positive slave to the bath, and would bathe so frequently that it would not even give itself time to become dry. It may be fed on bread and milk, oats, mice, small birds, insects, meat, or, indeed, upon almost anything that can be eaten by the rapacious or frugivorous birds.

It is of an affectionate nature, and will attach itself firmly to those who extend their sympathy towards it.

THE JAY.

The jay is a truly handsome bird, and will bear comparison with any of the exotic species of the same genus. Although it does not possess the exuberance of plumage nor the vivid brilliancy of colour that distinguish many of the jays which inhabit the hotter parts of the world, there is great beauty in the softly-toned hues of the general plumage and the boldly-contrasted bars of azure and black upon the wings. The moveable crest upon the head imparts a wonderful intelligence to the expression, and when the bird ruffles up and displays these ornamental plumes, a fresh charm is added to its appearance.

The jay is not nearly so common a pet as the magpie or jackdaw, probably because it is a rare bird, and seems yearly to be diminis.h.i.+ng in numbers. It is not so impatient of captivity as the magpie, and will bear confinement in a large cage with tolerable hardiness.

In its native state the jay seems to be rather more of a vegetarian than the previously mentioned examples of the corvine birds. Still it will eat meat, small birds, mice, insects, worms, &c., and has been known to attack and devastate the nests of the thrush and other birds, and devour the half-fledged young. But if any proprietor of a jay is desirous of giving his pet an especial treat, he should supply him with a fresh egg.

Any egg will answer the purpose, but if the jay seems to have a preference, the gaily-coloured egg of the thrush, perhaps, is most attractive.

Like the magpie, he will soon learn to talk, and displays powers of imitation scarcely, if at all, inferior to those enjoyed by that lively bird. Even such sounds as the lowing of cattle, the grunting of pigs, the bleating of sheep, or the neighing of horses, are reproduced with marvellous fidelity by the jay, although its ordinary note is a soft and rather pleasing cry.

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THE MAGPIE.

But what are we to say of the magpie, the very Mercury of the feathered tribes,--light, active, eloquent, and the most accomplished thief in the world? He wears all his bad qualities in the face, is not the least of a hypocrite, and carries off his delinquencies with so impudent an air that no one can help admiring him, however they may object to his principles.

Not being so plentiful in England as the jackdaw, and building his nest on the summits of lofty trees, he is not so readily procured as that bird. He is, however, so extremely amusing in his manners, that most persons would rather expend a little more money in procuring a healthy magpie than give a much less sum for the more phlegmatic jackdaw. His mischievous propensities are proverbial, and anybody who keeps one of these birds must be prepared for the commission of every imaginable delinquency. Nor must he blame the bird if it should happen to steal his watch-chain, peck a hole through his best boots, fill his bed with sticks and pebbles, upset his ink-bottle, tear his papers, put his kid gloves into the dirtiest procurable puddle, or play practical jokes of a similar kind; he has only himself to thank for his carelessness in allowing it access to his domains.

But if he makes up his mind that under such provoking circ.u.mstances the blame rests with himself, and that he will not be angry with the bird for following the dictates of its instinct, he will find his magpie a most entertaining companion, as full of odd tricks as a monkey, and as playful as a kitten. It requires very little attention, and provided that he be regularly fed, and furnished with a shelter in case of inclement weather, he will live to a venerable old age.

The fertility of invention that characterises a magpie's mind is perfectly astonis.h.i.+ng, and the anecdotes that are related by every one who has watched his habits are as varied as they are wonderful. There is an amount of self-reliance in the creature which betrays itself in every gesture, as well as in the knowing twist of the head; and the triumphant "carrack" that accompanies a successful piece of mischief and the impudent flirt of the tail afford unmistakeable evidence of the bird's true character.

None of the corvine birds should be kept in cages. The jackdaw perhaps suffers least from such captivity, and the magpie perhaps the most. It has such a restless nature, that it is ever on the move, and if confined, in a cage, may be seen hopping from perch to floor, and from floor to perch, in miserable monotony of movement. Moreover, his beautiful tail always suffers severely from contact with the bars of the cage; and even if it is not rubbed down to a mere stump, as is frequently the case, it is always rendered ragged and disreputable at the tip.

As a general fact, the ordinary wicker cages are of small use. A lively, active magpie, with all its senses developed, will make little of such a cage. Sometimes he will direct his attention to the door, and never rest until he has pulled it off the hinges. Sometimes he will set deliberately to work, and peck so fiercely and continuously at the bars, that he will break them away in splinters, and make his way out.

However, the best plan is to avoid cages; or if the bird really must be placed in confinement, let the cage be roomy, and made of wire.

Perhaps the chief charm of the magpie is his great capability for learning to talk, and his exceeding readiness to display that accomplishment. Some individuals are more eloquent than others, have a clearer articulation and a better memory,--just as is the case among human beings. But though all magpies may not be peculiarly excellent in their powers of conversation, they can all be taught to talk after a fas.h.i.+on, and are seldom chary of exhibiting their powers.

A magpie has been known to imitate the human voice so perfectly that he has induced his dupe to answer his queries, believing them to have been made by the lad whose peculiar voice was so well simulated. Very little trouble is needful to teach a magpie to talk, for his imitative instincts are very largely developed, and he is sure to reproduce with marvellous fidelity the various sounds which he may hear. He can bark like a dog, mew like a cat, cry like a child, scream like a costermonger, and occasionally swear like a trooper. But he means no harm, and may be pardoned for the unrefined language he is sometimes in the habit of using.

Magpies require plenty of water--not so much for drinking, although they are always thirsty birds, but for was.h.i.+ng. They are extremely fond of bathing, and a plentiful supply of water is needful to keep their beautiful plumage in proper condition. The food of the magpie is the same as that of the jackdaw.

OWLS.

There are worse pets to be found than owls. They are not so immediately engaging as many creatures that have already been mentioned, but by proper management they can be made into very companionable birds, quaint, grotesque, and affectionate withal.

The chief drawback to the owl as a pet is its nocturnal habits, which cause the bird to sleep during the day and to be awake during the night.

To a certain degree this custom may be corrected. The chief reason why the owl wakes at night is, that it preys upon mice and other nocturnal creatures, whether mammals or insects, and must in consequence be able to pounce upon them as they rove abroad.