Princess Sukey: The story of a pigeon and her human friends

Dear little Princess Sukey sitting by the fire—pretty little pigeon—of what is she thinking as she dreamily eyes the blazing wood? If a pigeon could review its past life, what she has of bird mind would be running back over the series of adventures that she had ere she established herself in this well ordered household.

Has she any mentality of her own, or are all pigeons stupid as has been said? Listen to her story, and judge for yourself.

To begin with—she is not a common street pigeon like those who are looking in the window, and who are probably envying her the silk cushion on which she sits, her china bath, her lump of rock salt, and her box of seeds. For it is a bitterly cold day. The wind is blowing fiercely, the thermometer is away below zero, and the ground is covered with snow. In summer these same street pigeons seem to be laughing at the pigeon princess on account of the abnormal life that she leads, but just now they certainly would change places with her.

The princess is a Jacobin—a thoroughbred, with a handsome hood that nearly hides her head, a fine mane and chain, and her colors are red and white.

Her parents were beauties—show birds with perfect points, and they were owned by a young pigeon fancier of the small city of Riverport, Maine.

The lad’s name was Charlie Brown, and he had a friend called Titus Sancroft, or, more familiarly, “Stuttering Tite,” from an unfortunate habit that he had formed of catching his breath at the beginning of nearly every sentence he uttered.

Now, young Titus walked most opportunely into Charlie’s pigeon loft just a day after Princess Sukey had been hatched.

Just before he came in the clock struck four. A male pigeon always helps the female in the work of incubation, and bringing up the young ones. About ten o’clock every morning the mother pigeon leaves her eggs, goes to get something to eat, and walks about the loft with the other pigeons—a pigeon rarely plays; even young ones are phlegmatic. As she comes off her nest the male pigeon goes on and sits there till four in the afternoon. Then the female returns for the night.

Well, the young princess was a sickly pigeon. There had been two sickly pigeons, for usually two eggs are laid at a time. One had died, and the father Jacobin, thinking that the young Sukey was also going to die, took her in his beak, lifted her from the nest, and gently deposited her on the floor at the other end of the loft.

There is little sentiment among birds. They believe in the survival of the fittest, and the weak are calmly taken from the nest.

The young pigeon was not desperately ill. However, blind and naked as she was, she could not have survived long, away from the warmth of the nest, unless this boy Titus had discovered her.

“H-h-hello, Charlie,” he stuttered, “here’s a squab out of the nest.” Charlie took the bird by the legs.

“W-w-what are you going to do?” asked Titus.

“Strike its head against the wall.”

Titus did not approve of this.

“Wh-why don’t you put it back in the nest?” he asked, excitedly.

“No good—once the old ones put it out they won’t look at it.”

“C-c-can’t you feed it?”

“Too much trouble. I did have some birds that would feed young ones—two fine old feeders, but I sold them.”

Titus had a mercenary little soul. “A-a pity to throw away good money,” he said, looking at the pigeon. “I-I should think you could worry some food down its throat yourself.”

“I could, but it’s an awful bother. I’ve tried it. This is a sick thing anyway. It will be dead in five minutes. See how it’s gasping.”

“B-b-bet you my jackknife it won’t die,” replied Titus.

So they waited five minutes, and, as good fortune would have it, the future princess gasped them out, and Charlie laid her in Titus’s palm. “The squab is yours.”

“B-b-blest if I know what to do with it,” remarked Titus, turning the pigeon over in his hands.

Charlie smiled mischievously. “I guess your grandfather will give you a time if he finds out.”

“H-h-he shan’t find out,” said Titus.

“It’s mean that you can’t have pigeons or something,” observed Charlie. “All the fellows have. Why don’t you make tracks for another grandfather?”

Titus grinned. His grandfather was a great trial to him, but it was only in one respect. In other ways he was a model grandfather.

“Hope it will live,” said Charlie, generously. “Tuck some food down its throat—some feed one way, some another—and mix some sweet oil in it. I’ve heard that’s good when you take them from the parents.”

Titus stood a minute longer; then seeing that the pigeon was near her end, and that Charlie was unconcernedly going on with his work of feeding and watering the other pigeons, he scampered home.

Titus lived with his grandfather, Judge Sancroft, and Judge Sancroft possessed a somewhat foolish and provoking but most devoted old family servant man called Higby.

Titus ran all about the house looking for this man. He was really forbidden to talk to him unless he was positively forced to do so. The Judge had commanded that Titus should only request a service from Higby, and thank him for one rendered. There was to be no conversation, for old Higby stammered terribly, and the Judge feared that it was from him Titus had caught the tiresome habit.

Finally the boy found the man in the attic superintending some painters.

“S-s-see what I’ve got, Higby,” he said, opening his palms, where he was keeping the pigeon warm.

“A s-s-squab,” said Higby, “a-a-and and an ugly w-w-worm of a thing it is.”

“W-w-what shall I do with it?” asked Titus.

“W-w-wring it’s neck, young sir,” said Higby, who was much worried by the painters. “’Tis a s-s-sad world for m-m-man, woman, or pigeon.”

“B-but it’s worth money,” said Titus. “It’s a Jacobin—the parents cost twenty dollars.”

Higby looked at it again. Neither he nor the lad was much animated by sentiment in saving the life of a bird. Then he felt the pigeon’s crop.

“Th-th-there ain’t nothin’ in there, Master Titus. You’ve got to fe-fe-feed it mighty quick.”