FRIENDLY NATIVE LARKS.

Forest and Bird, Issue 33, 1 June 1934, Page 10

FRIENDLY NATIVE LARKS.

(By H. Ross, Southland.)

Nature-lovers in New Zealand are blessed with the presence of a bird, so quiet, so obviously desirous of our good-fellowship and help that, to me, it is a wonder we do not hear more x about the little native lark (the pihoihoi, commonly known as the pipit or ground-lark). Its varied snatches of song are as bright and colourful as its plumage is dull and sombre. Wherever we go —to the peaty, moss-clad swamps, to the wind-swept, barren hill top, to the green, fertile meadow, or far inland to sunscorched sand wastes —the native lark is ever to be found. Always bright and perky, ever with a great deal to say for himself, he scuttles beneath our feet, so close that we almost tread on him. Do we stop for a rest Mr. Lark stops, too. Usually perching upon a post, stump or stone, he impatiently awaits our continuance of our walk. Then, with a triumphant “Cree!" he gaily accompanies us. In size and general appearance the native lark somewhat resembles the imported skylark. He is, however, not so yellowish about the head and he has no crest. Likewise, he is longer in the body and, I think, a trifle more corpulent than his English cousin. This latter fact, with the half-dozen or so native larks that practically live upon our lawn, may be due to the amount of food they obtain. In no sense can it be said that the native lark soars; indeed, it seldom makes a flight of more than two or three chains, preferring to run or to make low flights. It always moves in that manner when accompanying human strollers. For about four years a pair of these larks lived on the lawn, coming to the porch several times a day for food. Year in, year out, they were always there, except during the month of August, when hundreds of silver-eyes appeared. The larks would never remain in company with the green birds. Directly I began feeding the strangers the larks vanished, and they did not return until after the silver-eyes had departed for their forest home. This year the usual pair of larks have been joined by four more. They all usually put in an appearance at the door some time during the day for food. We And them very easily satisfied in the food line; bread, usually soaked in water, scraps of cooked meat and potatoes, cooked food of any kind, they seem to relish. The food placed for them has attracted the fattest, most ostentatious cock sparrow I have ever seen. He perches upon

the chimney or spouting, and from morning until night keeps up a ceaseless “Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!" Yet, in spite of all his noise and boldness in our presence, he is a rank coward when facing one of the larks. Any one of them can, and moreover does, at will, rob him of his meals. It is only because of this that I allowed him to remain. Besides the interest and endless amusement of the larks they are very useful. Woe betide the unwary fly or other insect that strays near them. Does it happen to be flying high up they rise and catch it with surprising ease. If low to the ground, they pursue it on foot, for all the world as a tame young duck chases blowflies. Very seldom do they miss it. When I am digging the garden the larks are in their element. They search every nook and cranny in the freshly-dug earth and eat every grub and particle of insect lavae that appears. The common white grass grub is a favourite tit-bit; especially when feeding the young birds and the sitting female do they prize this grub. Our garden is over-run wth this pest, yet if I dig ever so many during a day’s work, the larks are able to deal with everv specimen. One lark is so tame that, when hungry, he will take grubs from my hand. Like all of his kind when carrying food to his mate and family, he treats the unfortunate grub in one particular manner: First he lays it upon the ground, then deliberately he bites it with his very serviceable beak; starting at one end of his prey, he crushes it flat, working slowly along until he has arrived at opposite ends; then very neatly he doubles it over, catches both ends in his bill and departs. In a few moments he is back, ready for the next victim. The birds also delight in following the plough, or rather'in eagerly fossicking in the freshly turned earth. When I was working close to the house two of the little chaps used to await my hitching-up of the horses every morning. Towards ten o’clock they would disappear; presumably their appetites were satisfied. One morning, while yet it was too frosty to plough, the larks awaited me as usual. Presently one, tired of waiting, flew back to the lawn, while the other one —who must have been very hungry—after much consideration attacked an enormous frozen worm. It was so big that he could hardly shift it, let alone eat it. Eventually, however, he succeeded in breaking off a piece about a half-inch long, which, after a tremendous struggle, lie swallowed. Then he flew to a post, where with a cheerful "cree! cree!" he began to preen his feathers, apparently highlv pleased with himself. It was the only time 1 ever saw a lark eat a worm.

I remember, too, seeing one perched upon a fresh furrow making repeated jumps into the air. Closer examination proved that a host of small insects were Hying up and down the fresh earth, and this astute bird was enjoying the feast of a lifetime. The native lark appears to be able to outwit any cat. The old grey and white cat who lives here has long since grown tired of attempting to catch them. Nowadays he never bothers to raise his eyes at them. True, one lark a while ago appeared one morning minus its tail. My suspicion fell on a stray black cat which had taken up residence under the dairy. Perhaps it was unjust, but one morning I shot that cat, and the larks have been left in peace since then. Usually our pets nest in the long grass not far from the house where they have no difficulty in procuring food for their hungry offspring. The nest is generally well hidden in a bunch of grass. Well made of dried grasses and carefully woven and moulded, it forms a very comfortable home. From three to five eggs arclaid ; they resemble those of the skylark except that they are of much lighter colour. LUually the young birds are brought up to the door by the proud parents and fed until such time as they are able to take care of themselves. Rather remarkably, the youngsters never remain here after they are full-grown. If they do —the adorable little sprites —we shall be delighted to feed them.