“PIP.”

Forest and Bird, Issue 28, 1 October 1932, Page 6

“PIP.”

(By Hugh Ross, of Invercargill, Junior Member.)

Pip I call him, the name certainly seems to suit him. I have taken a great fancy to the little fellow; he interests me so much, but why I cannot exactly say. I have seen dozens more of his kind every bit as cheeky and perky as he is, some even more so. Perhaps it is because, with all his perkiness, he has a shyness that attracts me—for shy he is. He will advance to within three feet of where I stand, but beyond that distance he will not venture. I first noticed this little tomtit a few weeks back. He was perched on my spade-handle where I was chipping gorse. Immediately I started work he was round after grubs, small slugs, scuttling ants, small worms, anything in the creepy crawly line he seemed to regard as a great luxury; I also fancy, as a great joke. The instant I moved back from upending a gorse bush he would pounce upon some fat grub or other, fly with it to a nearby willow tree, and there with a violent criss-cross movement of his beak, kill the insect against the perch he was sitting on, then very deliberately swallow it; after which he would hop up and down for a moment or two, trill his little song, then back again for more. He does not seem to care a bit about his personal appearance, though he is by no means bedraggled or untidy. Nothing seems to damp his good spirits. Even the day a clod flew from the end of my spade and knocked him headlong off a wire fence into the mud, he did not seem to mind particularly. True, he went away for about half-an-hour, but back he came to his old perch on the willow, and it was not long before he pounced upon a grub, having apparently forgotten the accident altogether. An accident it certainly was. I am glad he regarded it as such; for I am very proud of the little insect-eater and would not hurt his feelings for anything. Pip, although he is by no means proud, has reason enough to feel that way. For a small bird he is quite good-looking. With his *yellow breast merging to grey-white near the wings, then to black, he is indeed handsome. His legs are reddish-brown, his tail black with a few white feathers. He has a white patch on each wing, patches that glitter like snow when he flies. The little round glossy head is armed with a miniature bill, ridiculously small it appears to be, but nevertheless it is a formidable weapon when used against the small fry on which he preys. Above this little bill is a tiny white spot that seems curiously to suit him. Sometimes I wonder if it is part of nature’s plan for something 1 have never been able to discover. *\Yhite in North Island.

One thing my little friend is proud of, that is his hunting ground. He guards it jealously. Silver-eyes, red-polls, an occasional dunnock (hedge sparrow) he promptly chases away; they seldom come back. Once a little hen tomtit ventured to trespass, and to my surprise he dealt out the same treatment to her. I have never seen her come back. In the food line Pip is becoming particular. Where before he ate any and every insect that ventured to show above the ground, he now chooses a species of grass grub, a small wire worm. From morning till night he does little but eat. His holding capacity appears to be enormous. I estimate that he eats about fifty grubs an hour at that rate for about ten hours a day; the most optimistic of people could not but suppose that something dreadful is bound to happen. I used to think so myself. Yet it never does. What’s more, he stubbornly refuses to get any fatter. At the end of a day he is as hungry looking, as energetic, and as perky and cheerful as when he is waiting for me in the mornings. I often wonder where Pip goes to roost. I have never been able to discover that. He appears to be busy as long as there is daylight, hunting, ever hunting grubs. Perhaps to-night he is asleep in some gorse bush, his head tucked under his wing, confidently awaiting the morrow, dreaming maybe of the grubs he will catch for his endless meal; for full well I know he will be there waiting for me in the morning and ready to share with me the duties of the day.