Oh! Oh! I know that!
Here a Chick, There a Chick, Everywhere a Chick Chick
From its earliest days, Colorado residents have had much to crow about over their close encounters with birds. Colorado has more species of birds nesting in the summer than any other state in the Union and Colorado is ground zero of the birdseed industry there’s more birdseed shipped out of Colorado than any place in the United States. It is a multi-million dollar industry, bringing the kind of cash flow into the economy that can’t be squawked at.
Avid avian collector, Charles Aiken, hosted a flock of 500 school children to view his large and beautiful collection of stuffed birds. Cautioning them about bird etiquette, Aiken warbled that to kill a bird was worse than destroying flowers, because flowers can be replaced in a short time, but if a wild bird is frightened it is not likely to come back, and if it is killed its little life is gone forever. At his death in 1936, Aiken had killed and stuffed more than 6,800 examples of feathered friends, many of which have winged their way into various scientific collections.
To provide emergency medical assistance to crippled fowl, Dr. William W. Arnold of Colorado Springs operated a bird hospital from 1912 to 1924. He offered care and treatment of wild birds suffering from the normal catastrophes which happen to our feathered brothers as they journey from their embryonic egg-shell home to the grave.
Following a July 1915 hailstorm, 60 battered and broken creatures suffering from broken wings, broken legs, eyes knocked out, and bodies bruised were brought to the hospital. Bobby, a fledging robin with a broken wing, proved to be one of Arnold’s most fascinating patients. He was dwarfish not only in body but in mind, also possessing an irascible temper which was constantly in a state of explosion.
At feeding time, Bobby was instantly transformed into a veritable fury, and would fly upon a Meadowlark, peck, scratch and kick it, using his legs just the same as a rooster, until the poor, timid lark would creep away into the farthest corner of the cage and wait until Bobby had stuffed himself into stupid indifference. Sadly, Bobby finally died from the effect of a prolonged bath which he insisted on taking one cold evening.
During 1873, an eagle was spotted while lunching off a dead horse. He had so completely gorged himself that when he attempted to fly away he could scarcely raise himself from the ground. Even so, he gave a good battle, and then was captured and led into captivity. Fascinated by the creature, townspeople regularly brought the bird raw meat just to see the eagle hunch over it in his box and tear it to little shreds with his razor sharp beak and claws. Some patriotic citizen proposed that the eagle be given his freedom during the upcoming Fourth of July celebration.
Avid avian collector, Charles Aiken, hosted a flock of 500 school children to view his large and beautiful collection of stuffed birds. Cautioning them about bird etiquette, Aiken warbled that to kill a bird was worse than destroying flowers, because flowers can be replaced in a short time, but if a wild bird is frightened it is not likely to come back, and if it is killed its little life is gone forever. At his death in 1936, Aiken had killed and stuffed more than 6,800 examples of feathered friends, many of which have winged their way into various scientific collections.
To provide emergency medical assistance to crippled fowl, Dr. William W. Arnold of Colorado Springs operated a bird hospital from 1912 to 1924. He offered care and treatment of wild birds suffering from the normal catastrophes which happen to our feathered brothers as they journey from their embryonic egg-shell home to the grave.
Following a July 1915 hailstorm, 60 battered and broken creatures suffering from broken wings, broken legs, eyes knocked out, and bodies bruised were brought to the hospital. Bobby, a fledging robin with a broken wing, proved to be one of Arnold’s most fascinating patients. He was dwarfish not only in body but in mind, also possessing an irascible temper which was constantly in a state of explosion.
At feeding time, Bobby was instantly transformed into a veritable fury, and would fly upon a Meadowlark, peck, scratch and kick it, using his legs just the same as a rooster, until the poor, timid lark would creep away into the farthest corner of the cage and wait until Bobby had stuffed himself into stupid indifference. Sadly, Bobby finally died from the effect of a prolonged bath which he insisted on taking one cold evening.
During 1873, an eagle was spotted while lunching off a dead horse. He had so completely gorged himself that when he attempted to fly away he could scarcely raise himself from the ground. Even so, he gave a good battle, and then was captured and led into captivity. Fascinated by the creature, townspeople regularly brought the bird raw meat just to see the eagle hunch over it in his box and tear it to little shreds with his razor sharp beak and claws. Some patriotic citizen proposed that the eagle be given his freedom during the upcoming Fourth of July celebration.
The day arrived. The citizens sang their national anthem with unusual enthusiasm. The famous eagle crouched in the box, staring at the crowd. The slats were removed from the box and the eagle just sat there, blinking his eyes. A boy tried to pull the bird out, another poked at him with a pole. Finally, the ornery bird was pushed out of his comfortable quarters, but made no attempts to fly or otherwise act like a patriotic bird. After looking lazily about him for a few moments, he cocked up his eye toward the sun, stared at it for a moment, then disgracefully waddled like a duck back into the box.
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