The Sly Bird
by Georgi Skrebitsky
Spring had come. The snow had melted. The migratory birds
were returning from the South.
“Oh, home, sweet home! We’re going home!” they cried in all keys
as they sped to their native land.
With their arrival the fields and woods came back to life at once.
Everywhere birds were singing, chirping, chittering and twittering.
From high up in the sky above a field the skylarks’ notes came like
the tinkling of tiny silver bells. Singing away in the woods were
chiff-chaffs, chaffinches, nightingales.... It was impossible to name all
the birds.
Some of them had no singing voice at all, but not wanting to lag
behind the others, they sang away as best they could.
The long-billed snipe soared up over the marshy lowland and then
darted down arrow-like. As it headed for the ground, it spread out its
tail like a fan. Its tail feathers are stiff and the wind makes them
vibrate. It sounds like the plucking of strings. The sound is wonderful:
like a lamb bleating in the sky, ‘Baa-baa!’ That was how the snipe
played its spring song on its own tail while it flew through the air.
The parti-coloured woodpecker settled on the very top of a dry and
broken fir-tree and started tapping the wood with its bill, “Trr-rr-rr,
trr-rr-rr!’ The rapid tattoo carried far into the woods.
That was how different birds were welcoming spring, each in its
own way, but all with equal joy.
But while rejoicing at the arrival of spring, the birds never forgot
about another—the most important—thing: that the time had come
for them to build nests, lay eggs in them and hatch their chicks.
The birds flew to groves, gardens, woods and forests, and each
found a suitable place for its nest.
The cuckoos alone gave no thought to building nests. They arrived
in our parts rather late: when the buds on the birches had already
burst open. But on returning to their native forests, the cuckoos were
in no hurry to start working. From morning till evening they did
nothing but play hide-and-seek with one another. One cuckoo would
hide in the thicket and call, ‘Cu-ckoo, cu-ckoo!’, while another would fly
about in the forest, trying to find the first.
Busy with their game, they did not notice that spring had nearly
ended. It would soon be time to hatch the young and they still had no
nests. What were they to do? | |
The cuckoos took counsel together and decided, ‘Why should we
build nests at all? Why don’t we ask other birds to let us lay our eggs in
their nests instead? It should be all the same to them how many eggs
they hatch. One egg more, one egg less shouldn’t make any difference.’
And so one of the cuckoos flew off to look for other birds’ nests.
She flew to an old birch and-on a thick bough near the trunk she saw
something dark, looking like a wood tumour. The cuckoo took a closer
look and saw that it was not a'tumour at all, but a bird’s nest. It was
very cleverly built: woven out of thin twigs and last year’s dry stalks.
And to prevent an enemy from spotting it, various lichens had been
woven into its walls—the same lichens that grow on trees. Also woven
into its walls were ribbons of birch bark. The nest was well camouflaged
and could not be easily spotted.
‘Whose home can it be?’ the cuckoo wondered, and she flew up to
the birch. :
“What do you want here?” a chaffinch asked her in a displeased
tone, popping its head out of the nest.
“I have to lay an egg,” the cuckoo said, “but I have no nest. May I
lay it in your nest? You are sitting on your own eggs anyway and will
be hatching your chicks, so you could hatch mine together with your
own ones.”
“I beg your pardon,” the chaffinch protested. “I’ve got lots of eggs
in my nest as it is. I can hardly cope with them and you want to add
another egg. No. You’d better fly farther into the forest; perhaps,
you'll be able to persuade one of the birds to hatch your chicks for
you.”
There was nothing the cuckoo could do but fly on.
Suddenly she saw a leafy lime-tree in a glade, and on the tip of one
branch a woven basket was swaying.
‘What a find!’ the cuckoo rejoiced. ‘So it wasn’t worth my while
working to build a nest after all.’ And she was just about to get into the
nest.
All of a sudden an oriole’s head popped out of the basket.
“What are you trying to get into my nest for?” the oriole said,
angrily.
“But I had no idea it was your nest,” the cuckoo replied. “Don’t be
afraid: I’m not going to take it from you. Please let me lay just one egg
in it.”
“Never!” said the oriole, indignantly. “You’d better start working to
build a nest of your own, then you can lay your eggs in it.”
_ “No, I somehow don’t feel like building a nest of my own,” said the
cuckoo, shaking her head. And she sped away.
She flew about in the forest, looking at every tree and bush closely.
Suddenly, on the side of a ravine, she saw a crab apple tree with its
branches spread out in all directions. And in the very place, where the
branches forked, a bird’s nest was showing dark. It was so well, so
sturdily built! Its sides were even plastered with clay.
The cuckoo wanted to steal nearer to the nest, but at that moment a
thrush came flying to meet her. And as it flew, it chirped and twittered
for the whole forest to hear,
“Be off with you! What did you come here for? Don’t you see it’s
my nest?”
The cuckoo wanted to ask the thrush to let her lay an egg in its
nest, but the thrush would not even listen to her. It kept on chirping
loudly,
‘Where else can I fly and whom else can I ask?’ thought the cuckoo,
much taken aback. ‘Evidently, no bird will agree voluntarily to sit on
my eggs and hatch my chicks. I'll have to use a trick.’
So the cuckoo began flying from tree to tree stealthily, hiding
behind branches. And as she flew, she searched for a nest from which
the owner had flown either to get some food or to stretch its wings. She
flew and flew, and at last she came across a deserted nest. It was built
in the hollow of an old alder-tree. The cuckoo looked round furtively:
the owner of the nest was nowhere to be seen.
‘Well, I mustn’t waste time,’ the trickster decided.
She laid an egg and quickly put it in the nest, where there were
already a few eggs.
‘Let her hatch my chick too,’ the cuckoo thought. “And now [ll fly
round and look for other nests and lay an egg in each.’
No sooner said than done. The cuckoo chose a suitable time, when
the birds were away from their nests, and put an egg in each. Now all
was well: her eggs were in other birds’ nests, which meant that those
birds would hatch the cuckoo chicks, feed them and protect them from
enemies. As for the cuckoo, she would have nothing to worry about;
once again she could fly all over the forest and catch hairy caterpillars
for breakfast. Almost no other bird will eat those caterpillars. Only the
cuckoos are fond of them.
After putting her eggs in other birds’ nests, the cuckoo never gave a
thought to what would happen to them afterwards, not even to the first
egg, which she had put in the hollow of the old alder-tree.
This is what happened to it.
The owner of the nest—a grey flycatcher—soon returned to the
nest to sit on the eggs. Of course, she did not notice that there was an
extra egg in her nest, for cuckoo eggs are small, speckled and very
similar to the eggs of other small birds.
The grey flycatcher patiently sat in the nest for many days. Finally,
blind and naked chicks emerged from the eggs.
At first they could only crawl about in the nest helplessly, but
gradually they grew a little stronger, began to raise their heads, opened
their beaks wide and cheeped, asking their parents for food.
The last chick came out of its speckled egg a little later than the cuckoo
“You know, I don't like to bother with such things,’
confessed.
“You don’t like taking care of your chicks?” the nightingale said,
indignantly. “Then do as you will, but I don’t even want to listen to
you!” And it turned away.
‘Where else can I fly and whom else can I ask?’ thought the cuckoo,
much taken aback. ‘Evidently, no bird will agree voluntarily to sit on
my eggs and hatch my chicks. I'll have to use a trick.’
So the cuckoo began flying from tree to tree stealthily, hiding
behind branches. And as she flew, she searched for a nest from which
the owner had flown either to get some food or to stretch its wings. She
flew and flew, and at last she came across a deserted nest. It was built
in the hollow of an old alder-tree. The cuckoo looked round furtively:
the owner of the nest was nowhere to be seen.
‘Well, I mustn’t waste time,’ the trickster decided.
She laid an egg and. quickly put it in the nest, where there were
already a few eggs.
‘Let her hatch my chick too,’ the cuckoo thought. ‘And now I'll fly
round and look for other nests and lay an egg in each.’
No sooner said than done. The cuckoo chose a suitable time, when
the birds were away from their nests, and put an egg in each. Now all
was well: her eggs were in other birds’ nests, which meant that those
birds would hatch the cuckoo chicks, feed them and protect them from
enemies. As for the cuckoo, she would have nothing to worry about;
once again she could fly all over the forest and catch hairy caterpillars
for breakfast. Almost no other bird will eat those caterpillars. Only the
cuckoos are fond of them.
After putting her eggs in other birds’ nests, the cuckoo never gave a
thought to what would happen to them afterwards, not even to the first
egg, which she had put in the hollow of the old alder-tree.
This is what happened to it.
The owner of the nest—a grey flycatcher—soon returned to the
nest to sit on the eggs. Of course, she did not notice that there was an
extra egg in her nest, for cuckoo eggs are small, speckled and very
similar to the eggs of other small birds.
The grey flycatcher patiently sat in the nest for many days. Finally,
blind and naked chicks emerged from the eggs.
At first they could only crawl about in the nest helplessly, but
gradually they grew a little stronger, began to raise their heads, opened
their beaks wide and cheeped, asking their parents for food.
The last chick came out of its speckled egg a little later than the
rest. It was bigger than the others and an awful fidget: it kept crawling
about in the nest, pushing its brothers and sisters.
“Oh, what a mischievous fellow he is!” the mother flycatcher would
say to her spouse—the grey flycatcher.
“He’s very smart!” the father flycatcher would reply, nodding his
head approvingly. “Mark my words: he'll be the first to learn to fly and
catch midges and mosquitoes. But the other children are also doing
fine,” he would add. “See how they raise their heads and open their
beaks!”
However, the parents had no time to admire their chicks. Feeding
those greedy open beaks was a full-time job.
From morning till night the father and mother flycatchers flew
about in the neighbouring groves, catching midges to feed their greedy
chicks. Meanwhile something strange was happening in the nest: the
number of the chicks in it kept diminishing. But the parents could not
count, nor did they know one chick from another. And small wonder:
they only had time to fly to the nest and put the midges and
mosquitoes into the open beaks. Who knew how many beaks there
were? , :
But what had happened to the chicks? Perhaps, a small predator
had started paying visits to the nest? No, that was not it. No predator
had climbed into the flycatchers’ nest. This is what was happening. The
smart chick—ihe one that had been the last to hatch—turned out to be
extremely naughty. It kept crawling about in the nest, working himself
underneath the other chicks. Then, with a great effort, he would lift up
a chick and push it over the side of the nest. This was how he had
pushed out first one chick, then another, then a third.... ‘The chicks fell
into the thick grass on the ground, where the ever-hungry hedgehog
immediately found them. The hedgehog would eat whatever food came
its way—a frog, a baby mouse or a chick—it made no difference.
Soon the fidget had pushed all his brothers and sisters out of the
nest, and remained there alone. But the parents did not even notice
that. They would fly to the nest and see the giant chick opening his
beak.
“T’m hungry,” he would cheep. “Gimme something to eat!”
The little birds were wearing themselves out, trying to feed their
glutton of a son. And they marvelled, ‘Some son we've got! A real giant
and no mistake!’ There was already scarcely enough room in the nest
for him alone and no space for his parents to land on in order to feed
their chick. They had to land right on his back. The chick would raise
his head and open his beak, as if to say, ‘Gimme something to eat. ’m
starving!’
A week passed, then another. The giant chick became fully fledged
and then he flew up and out of the nest. He landed on a branch and
began asking for food again.
The parents gave him food and, as they fed him, they rejoiced, ‘See
what a fine son we’ve brought up: three times bigger than ourselves!’
But one day a chaffinch was flying by and landed on a twig to rest a
while. And the flycatchers started boasting,
“Look at our chick. Isn’t he a fine fellow?”
The chaffinch looked at the fledgling and gasped,
“But it’s a baby cuckoo! You haven’t been feeding your own chick,
but a foundling.”
“How do you know?” the flycatchers asked, alarmed.
“T should know: the cuckoo played the same trick on me too, and |
fed her baby instead of my own chicks!”
The flycatchers were terribly angry. They rushed to the tree
which their giant chick had perched, but there was no trace of him. |
had grown up over the past few days and become stronger. So off
had flown into the forest all by himself to catch those dread!
caterpillars.
Then all the birds gathered together and decided that whenev:
they saw the cuckoo, they would drive her out of the forest. Only hoy
was that to be done? The cuckoo, as you know, is a sly bird. It will ge
into the thicket and tease the birds, ‘Cu-ckoo, cu-ckoo!’
And the birds simply cannot find her.
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