BIRDS AND BEASTS THE WOOD-PIGEON

Press, Volume LXXI, Issue 21416, 7 March 1935, Page 6 (Supplement)

BIRDS AND BEASTS THE WOOD-PIGEON

The bush-birds of New Zealand must have led a less-molested life than the birds of other lands, for they lay fewer eggs to a clutch. More eggs mean more young birds, and that means more destruction. English small birds lay live, six, or more eggs to a clutch; the New Zealand small birds, three or four. The clutch of the pigeon is still l ess —one egg, as against the two of the domestic pigeon of other lands. One egg at a time, and one young one reared; one would suppose that the New Zealand _ wood-pigeon would have been killed out long ago; for in spite of it being a protected bird, people still shoot it; they cannot resist it; it is such a good bird as food. It gives poor sport, for it is so tame it can be approached easily, and the noise of the gun does not seem to frighten it; if there are several birds sitting near by, they may be shot one after the other, so tame are they—or so stupid, some people would say. It is very much larger than the ordinary domestic pigeon, but in nature is very much the same; it builds a similar kind of nest, but in the thick spreading branch of a tree, where the sticks are so roughly and so loosely laid across and across that from below the egg can often be seen shining through.

One day we found a nest, and wishing to photograph it built up a scaffolding so as to get near it. It was about 15 feet up in a slender matipo, so the scaffolding had to be built in the adjoining tree, and a crosspiece laid for the camera. The bird was sitting on a young one, and did not mind us a bit. We set up the camera, tied back branches that were in the way, but did not cut them as they sheltered the birds from the sun, and the pigeon sat quietly patching us with her pretty ruby-coloured eyes. The first time the camera clicked she gave a tiny start, lifted her wing a little, and said "Coo!" —that was all. Then she sat quite quietly without even a coo, while we took four more pictures. We wanted a picture of her young one, so went up one day when she

(Kereru or Kukupa)

(By Johannes C. Andersen)

was away. She fed her squab very early in the morning, and we think in the evening, and left it during a great part of the day to sleep the time away, which it did. It would not hold up its head to have its photo taken; we would lift it up, but as soon as we removed our finger the head dropped dowri flop again 011 the ball of fat, and the eyes remained shut. After we had tried five or six times to make it sit for its photo, it seemed to get a little fit of anger, held up its head, and glared at us as much as a squab can glare—the camera clicked, the squab dropped its head and went to sleep once more. It spent most of its time in sleep, but how it could sleep on those hard sticks, and why it never got cramp from sitting on them, it is hard to understand. When the damson-like tawa berries are ripe, and the orangecoloured karaka, the pigeon has a good time; and you may often come on it in the deep quiet bush sitting on a low bough half dozing after a very heavy meal. If you come near it then, it will stretch out its neck and look at you in a sleepy sort of way, the iridescent feathers of the neck and breast shimmering like a precious silken tippet—a beautiful, harmless bird. I kept pigeons as a boy—domesticated pigeons; and one day a great wood-pigeon came from somewhere or other and settled on the ridge of the roof of our house among the pigeons there. There was great excitement, both among us boys and among our pigeons, all of which flew away from the stranger except one little tumbler-hen. The big bird with bowing head —you know how a pigeon's head in a way bows as it walks —stepped toward the tumbler; she did not fly, but leaned away from him as he came near her, her face turned to him, watching. He cooed a little, touched her, but in a short while flew off. We had hoped he would stay—a new member of our pigeon loft. In those days there was a great deal of bush in Pigeon Bay, Banks Peninsula. We knew of that, knew the bay was so named because of the great number of pigeons there, and wondered if that was where our bird had come from. We also wondered what he had said to the little tumbler.

The Welsh National Emblem The festival of St. David, patron saint of Wales, was celebrated last Friday by Welsh people all over the world. The Welsh national emblem is the leek, and there is an interesting story told of its adoption. Before King Edward I. of England conquered Wales there were many skirmishes between the British and the Welsh people along the border line of Wales. It quite often happened that the Welsh ranks and the British ranks became hopelessly mixed up, and because they did not wear uniforms in those days it was almost impossible for the men to distinguish friend from enemy. One shrewd Welshman, so the story goes, decided that to overcome this difficulty every soldier of his army should wear a leek in his hat, so that he could recognise his fellow-countrymen jo battle.