Status of Carolina Parakeet Specimens Collected in 1856 on the Missouri River

Ross Silcock was coauthor of this article, which was originally intended for publication in the Nebraska Bird Review.

The colorful and iconic Carolina Parakeet (Conuropsis carolinensis) historically occurred in southeast Nebraska at habitats along the ever-changing Missouri River. There is, however, little information on its distribution or abundance (Sharpe et al. 2001), though it apparently was a non-migratory species that reached the northwestern edge of its range in the lower Missouri River valley in southeast Nebraska. Myron Swenk (1934) summarized the information available to him, with updated information published by McKinley (1965, 1978). Its status was also discussed based upon the records previously published (Ducey 1988, 2000), indicating that it was extirpated about 1875 from the Nebraska region.

A consideration of historic notations indicates that flocks of parakeets wandered throughout the wooded Missouri River valley, with the available records indicating they nested on McKissock Island (Swenk 1934). Parakeets apparently occurred on occasion at least as far west on the Platte River as the mouth of the Loup River (McKinley 1965). Thomas Say, the naturalist with a U.S. Government expedition of 1819-1820, and his assistant Titian Ramsey Peale spent the winter of 1819-1820 along the Missouri River at Engineer Cantonment, at the northern fringe of present-day northeast Douglas County. Carolina Parakeets were observed by Peale from early December through mid-February, despite temperatures reaching 22 below zero at times (Wilson and Bonaparte 1808).

History for this species indicates there were at one time 11 specimens collected 24-25 April 1856 at McKissock (Bald) Island by Ferdinand V. Hayden for the National Museum of Natural History (Smithsonian Institution), during the Stephen Long Expedition. This location is currently a part of the state of Nebraska but lies on the east side of the Missouri River in Atchison County, Missouri. The original 11 specimens were numbered USNM 4608-4618 (pers. comm. Christopher Milensky).

McKinley (1965) was able to locate only three extant Nebraska specimens. USNM 4614 resides in the Smithsonian Institution and its status as the only specimen there from Nebraska was confirmed in a letter from Bonnie Farmer (Bray et al. 1986). According to McKinley (1965), the only other extant Nebraska specimens are a female (USNM 4613) now in the Academy of Natural Sciences in Philadelphia (re-numbered ANSP 35381) and a female (USNM 4609) sent to Henry Bryant at Harvard in 1856 (pers. comm. Christopher Milensky)

More recently, however, information provided by James Dean, ornithological collection manager at the Smithsonian Institution, in February 2010 indicated that three of the remaining specimens collected by Hayden were distributed as follows: NMNH (sic; apparently 4609) went to Harvard University (re-numbered MCZ 43215), NMNH 4610 was sent to “a French scientist” in the 1850s, and NMNH 4612 went to the University of Michigan (re-numbered UMMZ 20385). Thus there is some information on five of the 11 specimens originally collected on McKissock (Bald) Island; the others are unaccounted for (Christopher Milensky, pers. comm.). The available information may be summarized as follows:

4609 was sent to a Henry Bryant in 1856 and resides at Harvard Museum of Comparative Zoology, where it is re-numbered MCZ 43215. This is the oldest specimen among the 119 Carolina Parekeet specimens which are a part of this collection.

Bryant was born in Boston, and graduated from Harvard Medical School in 1843. In 1847 he was forced to abandon medicine because of ill health and turned to natural history, especially ornithology. Bryant was a member of the Megatherium Club a group of young naturalists at the newly formed Smithsonian Institution in the early 1860s. He appears in a group photograph which included other famous men of bird collecting: Robert Kennicott, Henry Ulke, and William Stimpson.

4610 was sent to a French scientist in the 1850s. According to Christopher Milensky (pers. comm.), the "French scientist" was Jules Verreaux of the Paris Museum.

4612 was sent to the University of Michigan, where it is still present (UMMZ 20385).

4613 is at the Academy of Natural Sciences, Philadelphia (ANSP 35381).

The specimen label data with this specimen lists Bald Island, Missouri and Yellowstone River as locale, and state as Montana; this appears to be an obvious error. This incongruity has been conveyed via email to the curators of the collection in order to correct any errors.

4614 continues in the Smithsonian Institution National Museum of Natural History.

This former resident parakeet of the Missouri River valley in Nebraska was vividly known by the specimens collected by naturalist Hayden, at a time when they flourished in suitable habitat along the river. Thankfully, due to written chronicles and specimen records, lore of the Carolina Parakeet can still be enjoyed and considered decades after its actual existence.

Literature cited:

Bray, T.E., B.K. Padelford, and W.R. Silcock (1986). The birds of Nebraska: a critically evaluated list. Bellevue, NE. Published by the authors.

Ducey, J.E. (1988). Nebraska birds, breeding status and distribution. Omaha, NE. Simmons-Boardman Books.

Ducey, J.E. (2000). Birds of the untamed west. Omaha, NE. Making History.

McKinley, D. (1965). The Carolina Parakeet in the upper Missouri and Mississippi River valleys. Auk 82: 215-226.

McKinley, D. (1978). The Carolina Parakeet in the West and additional references. Neb. Bird Review 46: 3-7.

Sharpe, R.S., Silcock, W.R., and J.G. Jorgensen (2001). Birds of Nebraska. Lincoln, NE. Univ. Nebraska Press.

Swenk, M.H. (1934). The interior Carolina Paroquet as a Nebraska bird. Neb. Bird Review 2: 55-59.

Wilson, A., and C.L. Bonaparte (1808). American ornithology; or, the natural history of the birds of the United States. Volume I. Philadelphia, PA. Porter and Coates.

Saga of Pick - a Captive Paroquet

The Life Story of a Bird.

Out of the Realms of Nature Across the Boundary of Civilization.

Hunting in the Green Palmettos - Screams in the Air - A Friend in Green Pantalettes - Away to the Swamp - The Prodigal's Return - Life in a New World - The Escape from Death - Its Affection and Jealousy.

A covey of quail was flushed in the palmetto scrub, three miles southwest of Mosquito Inlet, Fla., on the 28th of December, 1875. Four birds were shot dead. The covey scattered, and individual birds were marked as they settled among the huckleberry bushes and saw palmettos. While moving carefully through the low scrub the sportsmen heard the screams of a flock of parroquets. These birds were coming down on the wind, filling the wind with shrill cries. They swept over the scattered pines that shaded the scrub, and swerved to the left, cutting the atmosphere with the grace of wild pigeons. A long shot was made. One of the green birds sped spirally into the sky with a frantic cry. It arose to a great height, and fell into the top of a tall pine. Dropping from branch to branch, it finally clutched a twig and hung head downward, screaming like a woman in hysterics. parroquets never leave a wounded companion. Its mates circled around the top of the tree, uttering plaintive calls. The suffering bird clung to the twig a full minute, and fell to the ground dead.

The flock alighted in a willow swale a few rods away and kept up an incessant chattering. Here they were ambushed. At each report of a gun dead bodies floated on the dead water. On wading out to them, two wounded birds were found clinging to the willows. One was a small parroquet with a broad head, a white bill, and large eyes. Its orange head was flecked with spots of green. These green spots indicated it was between one and two years old. The root of a wing feather had been broken by a No. 10 shot. Its comrade was larger, and was more seriously wounded. Both birds screamed with afright, and took to the water. When captured, they viciously used their bills, and gave up the fight only when securely tied in a pocket kerchief.

An hour later they were released on the veranda of the Ocean House at New Symrna. The small bird stepped from the handkerchief without a glance at the surroundings. It picked up a straw, and began to play with it. It gave chase to a beetle and destroyed a trellised rosebud. The large bird crouched at the foot of a pillar, and furtively watched the guests of the hotel. It screeched whenever it was approached. Toward sundown the small parroquet hid its head under the wing of its mate, and cuddled itself to rest. At dusk a green branch was nailed to the window casing of a bedroom. The two birds were placed on the branch after dark, and went to roost with uneasy murmurs. In the morning the large parroquet stood among the green leaves stone dead. The little fellow's head was tucked under the wing of the dead bird. The branch was shaken, and the live bird withdrew its head. It called twice. Getting no answer it began to pluck the feathers of the dead bird. A moment afterward it fluttered to the floor, and crept under the bed. The dead parroquet was skinned and prepared for mounting. Its mate crawled from under the bed, climbed the back of a rocking chair, and watched the taxidermist with the utmost gravity. The skin was thrown into a drawer, and the live parroquet was without a companion. He was named pick.

- - -

A man thrown on an unknown planet could not have been more completely isoate, Pick was in a new world, among strange beings. He was as solely dependant upon them as was Gulliver upon the Brobdingnagians. Under the most adverse circumstances, he retained his presence of mind and cheerfulness. A saucer of water was placed before him. Instead of drinking he bathed his wounded wing. He would eat nothing but acorns. The season for these was nearly over, and the woods were scoured for miles before a supply could be secured. One day a Flordian threw a pine cone on the floor. Pick marched to it with evident delight. He split it open and regaled himself with the seeds between the layers of the cone. From pine cones he went to white walnuts, pecan nuts, peanuts, sand spurs, prickly ash berries, and cypress buds. He refused rice and cracked corn, and for a long time would not touch bread. A softshell almond fell into his way, and ever afterward almonds were his favorite food. After some weeks he developed a taste for balls of masticated bread. As he became civilized and attached to persons, he ate nearly everything, onions, bacon, eggs, celery, honey, sugar and preserves of all kinds. Cheese and macaroni were a savory delight. He drank lemonade, orangeade, tea and coffee. His change in diet made him lose that peculiar scent of a parroquet, and probably owing to this lost scent, he was never able to get the slightest recognition from any other bird.

Pick's greatest trouble was to find a satisfactory place to sleep. His nights has been passed among the members of his flock in hollow trees. In these trees these birds cuddle together with their heads under each other's wings. They never roost, but cling to the edges of the trees with their bills and their feet. Pick at first tried to perch, but with no success. He would lose consciousness, and fall half a dozen times a night. He next crept under the clothes that hung in the wardrobe, but in the dead of night a scream would be heard, followed by a fluttering. The little fellow would drop and wander over the floor uttering cries of abject terror. At last he acquired the habit of sleeping under the blankets with his master. It had its risks, but the bird was never so contented as when sound asleep under an outside blanket, where he could hear the breathing of his friend.

He had a controlling attachment for the man who shot him. His wing healed in about four weeks. Up to that time he repeatedly went fishing with his recognized friend. He crept up the mast of the little sharpie, and watched operations below with the liveliest interest. When a fish was hooked he was all excitement. If the fish broke water he chattered with delight, and screeched for joy when the gaff was brought into play and the fish was landed. As he recovered the use of his wing he amused himself by short excursions among the mangroves, but never allowed himself to get out of hearing. Somehow, "Pickie" invariably brought an [missing] the rattling of an oar would [missing] boat in a jiffy. It was [missing] of departure. When a pelican, a heron, or an eagle flew over the river, he darted to his friends shoulder with a note of alarm, and frequently crept within the bosom of his woolen shirt. He was a favorite with the guests in the hotel, but showed a preference for the society of men. If there were no men in sight he received the attention of the ladies, but it was always under sufferance.

The bird seemed to be without gratitude. He snatched tidbits that were offered as though they belonged to him and had been stolen. He had an imperious will. He walked up to strangers and lowered his head. It was a demand for them to scratch it; but the scratching must be done gently. If the finger was too rude a sharp protest was followed by a bite, and the bite usually drew blood. One day Pick walked up to a pet dog lying on the hearth and soberly lowered his head. The dog paid no attention. The bird chirruped sharply and the head was again lowered. The dog regarded the little fellow with half-closed eyes. Patience exhausted, Pick made a rush and nipped him through the paw. He then flew to the frame of a picture, and watched the movements of the limping animal with evident delight.

- - -

The fishing excursions had lasted several weeks, and Pick began to show signs of dissatisfaction. On the return home he made strange noises, and from his perch at the mast-head stared wistfully toward the great Turnbull swamp, miles away. He seemed to be musing over his former life. Civilization had not wiped out the memories of his youth. On Feb. 21, 1876, the sharpie had just landed at the wharf of the hotel, when the bird piped shrilly and darted in a bee-line for the great swamp. He was out of sight in an instant. The sun went down, and he did not return. He little knew that a life of dependence had already unfitted him for the old bird life. All but one of his flock had been slain. When a parroquet looses its flock it becomes an outcast. It can enter no other community, and no stranger will affiliate with it. It wanders around the woods until it falls a prey to an eagle, an owl, or a hawk.

On Sunday, Feb. 27, six days afterward, a lone parroquet flew over the live oaks surrounding the Ocean House. It cut a great circle above a low mangrove, and screamed lustily. A man walked from the veranda to the yard, and shouted "Pickie!" The little green coat swept around the ruins of the Turnbull palace and alighted on his shoulder. The feathered prodigal had returned in a sad plight. His feathers were ruffled, the eyes were cold, and his little breast bone was a sharp as a razor. His wing was clipped, and he was placed in his corner in the bedroom. He drank orange juice and ate almonds until he cold hardly waddle, and then crawled under the bolster of the bed, and slept from 4 o'clock in the afternoon to 10 the next morning. He bathed twice that day in a large wash bowl, and spent hours in making his toilet. A cleaner bird never breathed. From that day to this he has taken a bath every morning. He goes to the wash bowl and demands it. If it is not forthcoming, he settles himself in the pitcher and screams until his demands are met.

After his return, at times he showed marked affection for his chosen friend. Toward twilight he perched upon his shoulder and rubbed his hand against his cheek, chirping quaintly for some minutes. Finally he crawled within the bosom of his jacket and went to sleep. The sound of a guitar threw the bird into ecstasies. While it was being played he would cling to the breast of the performer, fluttering a cooing as though charmed by the vibrations of the strings. The bird also developed a new phase of character. Glass buttons, pieces of tin, a silver thimble, anything that glittered, instantly attracted his attention. He would play with such things an hour. A little bucket filled with old trinkets was set apart for him. It kept him from mischief. After ransacking its contents he would pitch everything to the floor. He regarded the basket as his personal property, and woe betided the stranger who touched it. One of the trinkets was a steel watch chain. The chain was a source of never failing delight. He wound it around his legs, lay flat on his back, and rolled over the floor with a new toy.

His curiosity was excessive. If a trunk or drawer was opened, he was in it in a second. He took an annoying interest in the crochet work of the ladies, and was ever ready to assist any one in writing a letter. He quickly learned that his supply of almonds was kept in a cigar box on the mantle, and when hungry, he raised the lid and helped himself.

To bring him North, a cage was required. No wooden house would answer. He could gnaw his way from a box as easily as a rat. A wire cage was bought from the Captain of a live-oak schooner. The bird divined its use. He gazed at it from a distance and would not alight near it. Placed within the bars after dark, he loosened the fastening of the door, and fought his way out. When this egress failed, he unraveled the wiry knots that held the bottom of the cage, and worked his way to liberty. Three weeks were spent in circumventing him, and months elapsed before he remained in prison at all contentedly. If left alone he screamed with passion. His friend would lie on the floor at the side of the cage smoking by the hour and trying to pacify him. The bird clung to the side of the cage until overcome by sleep. When his little eyes were closed, an attempt to steal away, however noiseless, would reopen them, and he would utter a low protest. He never hid his head under his wing, and unlike a parrot, never laid it over his back before going to sleep. At dark a blanket was wrapped about the cage, and the guitar was thrummed until the bird-like expressions of satisfaction ceased, and he was left to his rest. As the door of the room was closed he made his last protest — a collection of quaint sounds that meant, "I'll be quiet if you are not gone too long."

- - -

Pick was brought to New York on April 15, 1876. He had passed the boundary of civilization, and now entered one of its centres. The noise of the city dazzled him. He was given the freedom of the house, and during his friend's absence he sat for hours upon the window sill, watching passing vehicles and listening to the cries of licensed vendors. His affection for the man who shot him increased. When home the bird was perched on his shoulder. He rubbed his head against the man's cheek, are from his mouth, crawled into his pockets after nuts and candy, walked lame, fluttering is wings, and performed of his own accord various antics for the amusement of his friend. If the man was inattentive a delicate pinch of the ear reminded him of it. It was a persistent friendship, and demanded and received the warmest friendship in return. The friends dined together. The bird took soup and sampled the various dishes at will. He was obedient. Warned not to touch a dish he kept away from it. He was allowed to chip the frame of a certain picture, and he chipped no other. Sand paper was pinned to the wall, and he used it to keep his bill smooth. He had a given perch near the stove, where he dried himself after a bath. He quickly learned his privileges, and though at times he evinced a disposition to overstep the bounds, he never did so against the protest of his friend.

In June he went to Henderson Harbor, on Lake Ontario. Here the fishing excursions were resumed. Pick had the freedom of the air. He darted among the apple trees, chased by swallows, robins and phoebe birds. He tumbled around the barn-yard, frightening the doves, and alarming the chickens. He knew the favorite fishing grounds near the farm-house and visited them at odd intervals, but he never crossed the bay on an excursion to the lake. He was the last to leave his friend when these excursions were made, and the first to welcome him on his return. At sun-down he sat upon the boat house, on the lookout for the returning boat. Strange craft he hailed with an inquiring cry, but when the blue boat of his friend hove in sight, he flew to it with joyful utterances, and rubbed his head against the fisherman's cheek, until a landing was made.

The bird demanded society. The company of a dog was preferable to no company. When left alone he was in terror. He seemed to see shadows in the air, and skulked at every noise. Locked in a room at one time, when the door was reopened he was missing. After a long search he was discovered asleep under a shawl at the side of a small black and tan terrier.

- - -

The two friends returned to Florida in December, 1876. The bird had a vivid remembrance of his old haunts. Agaves, orange trees, mangrove bushes, fig trees and guava shrubs, all were revisited with delight. One day the bird followed its friends to the woods, and actually stood on the barrel of the gun while fox-squirrels were shot. The report of the fowling piece created no astonishment. Pick fluttered over the game after it was killed, and was willing to assist in skinning the squirrels.

In February, 1877, two wounded parroquets were brought to the hotel. Their wounds healed rapidly. They were the first fellow countrymen that Pick had seen in fifteen months. Robinson Crusoe could not have been more overjoyed at the sight of white visitors. The stranger birds were absorbed in each other. They fed from the same cup, and plumed and solaced each other like companions in misfortune. Their happiness made Pick miserable. He lost his affection for his quondam friend. He could neither eat nor sleep. Vainly he tried to attract the attention of the strangers. He thrust himself between them, brought choice delicacies, offered to plume them, and did the honors of the house like a feathered nobleman; but the guests were stern high-caste Brahmine. They would not accept the least civility. They would neither touch nor taste anything laid before them by the renegade. Pick's presence was a contamination and they acted as though the very air that he breathed was poisonous. For six days the lone bird treated the strangers with the utmost courtesy. At times he absolutely implored recognition. Suddenly his bearing changed. He assumed the manners of a ruffian, and used them like interlopers. He picked their heads, stripped them of their feathers, and deludged them with the choicest epithets in the parroquet dialect. The strangers bore all indignities with the resignation of religious martyrs. They would not even gaze at their persecutor. His rage increased. To save their lives the two birds were presented to the wife of the Minneapolis Tribune, who gave them a home in the great Northwest.

A month elapsed before Pick became himself again. His affection for the man who had shot him then increased three-fold. For weeks he could scarcely bear him out of sight. When absent he would neither eat, drink nor sleep, and from that time to this no bird had been able to attract his attention for a moment.

Pick returned to New York in May, 1877. In June he went to Jacob Garrison's, three miles from Milford, Pa., trout fishing. He took wing daily, and followed his friend down the Sawkill, alighting in the trees over the best pools, and watching the casting of the flies as though personally interested. When out of sight every call was answered. The friends lunched, and assorted flies together on the bank of the purting stream. Pick's assortments were not those of an amateur. He selected grizzly kings, gray professors, and showy flies, and manifested disappointment because they were not used. He insisted that the yellow May fly was preferable to the ugly stone gnat, and one day, determined to have his way, severed the shells of the stone gnats in the book. We returned to New York at midnight June 20.

- - -

The New York Herald of June 22, 1877, contains the following advertisement:

$10 REWARD. — Flew away from 114 Varick St., a small parrot of parroquet.

On the morning after his return from Milford, the bird shot through the open door and disappeared over the roofs of the neighboring houses. He probably fancied that he was still in the country. He lost his bearings in the smoke and uproar of the city, and could not retrace his flight. Washington square and all shaded streets were searched for him without result. He passed the night away from home. As his friend was passing a bird store in Canal street, near Varick, on the following day, he heard a familiar cry. On turning he saw half a dozen Florida parroquets imprisoned in a large cage. One was on the bottom of the cage, working with might and main to escape, and the others were continually pecking at him. It was Pick, but so changed that his own mother would not have known him. Every tail feather was gone, he was partially bald, and there was a black and blue spot on his bill that suggested the story of the parrot and the monkey. He had been run to earth by gamins of the Eighth Ward, who had struck him over the nose with a stick, and sold him to slavery. When reasoned, the door of his prison was opened, and he flew to the shoulder of his friend with a scream of joy and rubbed his head against his cheek. A child who had lost its parents would not have shown more delight. It was fully six months before the bird regained his plumage. The extravagated blood mark on his bill did not disappear in a year.

The summer was spent on Lake Ontario where Pick again had full freedom of wing. He recognized old faces, and darted among the apple trees, pursued by the same swallows and robins. Twice has he revisited the spot since then, and twice has he followed the course of the Sawkill at Milford. He has also shaken his wings under the Starucca viaduct, and cast a reflection in the blue Susquehanna at Windsor, N.Y. The remainder of the time has been spent in New York. Three times he has been lost. Once, when left alone in the house, he turned the button of a screen at the kitchen window, pulled it open, and wafted himself toward the North River. He was found clinging to the shoulder of a stranger, in a tenement house at 9 o'clock that evening. The stranger's wife, while in the yard, heard him screaming, and saw him circling in the air over the Spring street tower late in the afternoon. She shouted, and the bird descended and perched on her shoulder. When taken into the house he left her, and clung to her husband. Last summer he escaped from the residence of his friend in Charlton street. After being chased and stoned by the boys in the street for more than an hour, he returned to the house of his own accord.

Pick has had numerous escapes from death. A hawk came very near snatching him from the top of a weather-cock, where he had gone to sleep. He escaped the claws of a hungry cat while asleep on a gate-post. He came within a hair of being caught in a closing door, and was once badly mangled while sleeping on a rope near the wheel of a dumb waiter. His narrowest escape was last February. A merschaum pipe had been removed from a white marble mantel, leaving behind it the amber stain of nicotine. The stain attracted the attention of the bird. He had barely touched his fly-like tongue to it when he fell over on his back apparently dead. He was carried into the yard and rolled in the snow. Faint screams gave signs of life. He was then taken by the legs and swept through the air, forcing him to use his wings. "Appleton's American Encyclopedia: said that tea was an antidote for nicotine poisoning. The mouth of Pick's friend was filled with hot tea. He ground the bill of the bird between his teeth, forced it open, and wet his tongue with the decoction. Muscular action followed. The little fellow swallowed some of the tea and began to vomit. The tea was administered at regular intervals, and the drowsy bird was not allowed to close its eyes. Within two hours he became excessively angry and uttered passionate screams. From that hour, however, his life was safe. He rapidly recovered, and ever afterward avoided yellow stains.

- - -

Pick is still alive. He sleeps in the swing of a covered cage, but at precisely 5 o'clock in the morning awakes, and insists upon getting into bed with his friend. Once there he nestles near his bosom, and sleeps until breakfast time. He bathes when his friend washes, and takes an interest in his toilet. He frequently flies to him with a necktie, and has tried to bring a comb and hairbrush. The mystery of the toothbrush he is unable to solve. He perches on his friend's shoulder while the brush is being used, chattering merrily, as though seeking an explanation.

His thoughts are eternally on his friend, absent or present. After the gas is lighted he takes his stand over the door of the sitting room, and awaits his coming. When the outside door is opened he screams a welcome, and expresses much disappointment when he finds himself mistaken in his man. At 9 he is put in his cage, but asleep or awake he does not forget his attachment. His hearing is remarkable. The rattle of a night key on the stoop, will startle him at 6 o'clock in the morning, and he will squeak with joy. Nor will he cease his endearing chatter until his friend taps on the cage, and assures him that he is safe.

The bird has become civilized. He has developed intellectual and affective faculties. Phrenologically considered, he has shown:

Affective Faculties

Domestic Group — Friendship, inhabitiveness, and continuity

Selfish Group — Vivativeness combativeness, destructiveness, alimentiveness cautiousness, approbativeness, self-esteem, and firmness.

Moral Group — Hope.

Self-Perfecting Group — Imitation and mirthfulness.

Intellectual Faculties

Perceptive Group — Curiosity, locality, eventuality, time, tune, and language.

Reflective Group — Casuality, human nature, and agreeableness.

And these have all been developed by experience and association. With large destructiveness his head is no longer above the ears than the head of any other parroquet. His affection and constancy are shown in his attachments; his jealousy, in hatred of a pet parrot, who mimics him and calls him the livelong day; his revenge, in biting those who have imposed on him; and his vanity, in pluming himself by the hour before a mirror. At first he tried to get behind the glass to find the other bird; but since than has apparently become satisfied that the supposed bird is a refection of himself, and therefore he uses the glass same as a woman.

When seated before a glowing grate, thrumming the guitar for his delectation, on a cold winter evening, I cannot forget that, though a small bird, with mutton-chop whiskers and green pantalettes, he is a true friend.

Anonymous. February 8, 1880. The life story of a bird. Out of the realms of nature across the boundary of civilization. Hunting in the green palmettos - screams in the air... .New York Sun 47(161): 1. Also: Watertown Re-Union, page 3. Issued February 19, 1880.

Educated Paroquet Entertains Crowd

The Baltimore American gives the following account of a troupe of trained Java sparrows and parroquets, now exhibiting in the streets at that city: —

"When a suitable place is found, a circular table is opened, and the birds are all turned loose upon it; they manifest no fear at the crowd, and do not offer to escape. The performance consists of ringing bells, trundling small wheelbarrows, slack wire walking, firing off pistols, dancing, swinging each other in small swings, an excellent imitation of a trapeze performance, and a number of other equally interesting tricks. The most wonderful part of the performance, however, is done by a paroquet. This bird walks to the center of the table, and after bowing to the crowd, seats himself in a small chair near a bell. To the clapper of the bell there is attached a small cord, and any one in the crowd is allowed to ask the bird to strike any number of times upon the bell. If asked to strike ten times, he leaves the chair, seizes the bell rope, and pulls it ten times, after which he bows and returns to his seat. This was repeated a great many times, and with one exception the bird made no mistake. The bird will strike twenty-seven times, but after that he refuses; and his owner states that he has worked nearly a year to get this bird to strike up to thirty, but it appears that his memory gives out at that point, and it is unable to count further. A collection is, of course, taken up after each exhibition."

December 10, 1874. Educated birds. St. Lawrence Plain Dealer 19(22): 4. Issued at Canton, N.Y.

Feather Flowers New Branch of Industry

A new branch of industry has been started in Florida, which bids fair to prove exceedingly remunerative. It is the manufacture of feather flowers, that will not fade or change color under any circumstances. The flowers are made of the plumage of the white heron, while the leaves are taken from the paroquet. They are unusually rich and attractive, and need only to be seen to be appreciated. Some of these flowers are made of the dove-colored crane's plumage, for ladies who no longer claim the privileges and gayety of youth, and others again are manufactured for those who are in half mourning, the jetty blackness of certain portions of the work contrasting elegantly with the snow white purity of the other.

Weekly Columbus Enquirer 44(44): 4. Issued October 29, 1872. From Exchange.

Oldtime Lore of the Paroquet and Pigeon

These accounts convey details of great interest for the natural history of two iconic species at a time long-ago when they thrived and were prominent in North America's avifauna. There was no thought at the time that they would eventually become extinct!

"Description of the Green River Paroquet, by a person of credibility from the state of Kentucky.

"This bird is about the size of a pigeon, of a green colour except the head, which inclines to yellow; they go in flocks or companies about the plantations, and are remarkable for their docility; when once taken and caressed a few hours, they will have no inclination to leave their captor, but will remain about his house, enjoying his bounty with unparalleled indifference and security; when thus reclaimed, they serve as a decoy, by being perched on a pole or scaffold. While a flock are flying by, they will readily alight as conveniently as possible, and are so attached to each other, that any of the strangers that alight within reach may be taken by the owner of the decoy with difficulty, which in two or three hours becomes as gentle as the other; they are possessed of an uncommon degree of sociability and friendship towards each other; when travelling about the house, if one of them discovers a grain of corn or any other food, it immediately, raises the alarm, and by a chattering peculiar to themselves, invites its fellows to partake; when assembled, the discoverer splits with its beak the corn as with shears; they are remarkably fond of cockle burs; the same friendship takes place on finding a plant or bush or these; they lodge or keep suspending themselves by the beak, from a pin or crevice in the wall of the house, or any convenience which a hollow tree affords, in which a whole flock will assemble, if sufficiently capacious; the females of a flock lay their eggs together in a hollow tree promiscuously, and when thus deposited, the males assume the charge of hatching and supporting them; it frequently happens that there are young in the nest half fledged when others are still in the shell."

This article about the Carolina Parakeet was published in an 1801 edition of a New England newspaper.

"Communications. The Wild Pigeon.

"It is well known that the wild pigeon is a bird of passage, and that it frequents these parts regularly twice every year. In the spring, large flocks come from the south, and disperse amongst the uplands and mountains in the northern parts of this and the neighboring states; whence they hatch and rear their young; and in the autumn, they collect together again, and with their young proceed to the south. They cannot well stand the cold, nor subsist upon the buds of trees as other birds indigenous to these northern climes; and of course are obliged to emigrate to a warmer climate when the weather becomes cold and the ground is covered with snow. Extraordinary, however, as it may seem, it is a fact, that since the first of the present month, large flocks of these birds have appeared amongst us, and have scattered themselves as usual throughout the woods. Great numbers of them have been taken with nets in the upper part of New Jersey, and one of the markets in this city has for several days past been supplied with them. An old farmer who had taken 300 and carried most of them to market, told me that they appeared in general to come from the southwest : that they were very fat, and continued in the woods where he lived, subsisting chiefly upon the frozen acorns, found upon the branches of the oak. He says they are very wild, that he recollects but one instance of the kind happening before during all his life; and that was on a Christmas many years ago, when he also caught a great number of them. A curious question then arises, what could induce these harmless birds, contrary to their nature and custom, to pay us a visit at this inclement season of the year?"

This article about the Passenger Pigeon was published in an 1815 edition of a New York newspaper.

Announcement of a False Discovery of the Extinct Carolina Parakeet a Mistake

An April 1st story prepared to show it was issued by Cornell University and The Nature Conservancy, announced the discovery of a local non-migratory species of the Carolina Parakeet in northern Honduras. The story, formatted as a news release from the university news service, gave details, even focused on genetics and made a case that a non-migratory flock had been discovered in central America. News of the discovery was reportedly going to be released in the journal Science.

It was a joke foisted on too many people on April Fool's Day.

The fool's of the day were not the people reading about the announcement on bird blogs, online news services, or had seen comments about the purported discovery on some bird discussion group.

There were thoughts that the Carolina Parakeet (Conuropsis carolinensis) lived on, with excitement, wonder and hope implied in the views expressed with a perspective that perhaps this was another bit of surprising news of extinct species.

Cornell University and The Nature Discovery had previously announced, to great fanfare and media attention, the supposed existence of the Ivory-billed Woodpecker in the southeast United States, another species though to have been extinct.

The fool's of the day were the people that worked together to issue the parakeet story. They included pictures, one showing a fake example of a live bird (with the obvious wrong-type of beak), discussed DNA analysis and otherwise wove a tale of deceit. Aspects of a recovery plan were even given. Names for contacts were shown, with false email addresses provided!

Lore of the Carolina Parakeet has it's own profound legacy. One clue to the fallacy of the story, was stating that a migratory bunch in middle, tropical America had stayed put.

None of the known 150 or so historic records prior to 1880 show that this species was noted anywhere else but in the United States, so this was an obvious puzzlement.

Perhaps the two authorities given with the article, could provide a basis for this historic distribution, which perhaps was noted in the 1880s, or some time during the period before the species became extinct. But then, neither email worked. The Cornell University News Service, despite having been asked, could not provide an valid contact email-id for further information regarding the fake news.

Actual history is much more essential, instead of some words issued by a conspiracy to dupe people. In the first era of history, it was called a paroquet. LaSalle wrote about this species in those years about 1680. A number of men mentioned it during the 1750-1800, and their words convey reality as they saw it while exploring places of a growing country. Fiction was not the forte given by authors Gist, Carter, Heckewelder, Cresswell, Filson, Davis, and Collot.

The April 1st fiction included a photograph of a supposed live bird - named - though it was an altered view of a Jenday Conure. Some features matched, but birders focused on details noted errant features that would not have matched reality. Characteristics of the beak showed no similarities, though a quick glance might have sufficed to indicate the species lived on.

These are some examples of comments plucked from the world-wide perspective in reaction to the fake proclamation.

• "See this exceptional news release from Cornell Lab of Ornithology and The Nature Conservancy:" - Ric Z.
• "Someone pointed out that the referenced web site was an April Fools Joke. I didn't find it funny." - Al R.
• "I sure hope it isn't an April Fool's joke." - Patty M.
• "Well, I fell for it, I honestly did not know it was a joke" - Vicki B.

It was a disservice to bird enthusiast's that this fictional account, written with great attention to detail, was released to the public. It was a good bunch of fiction, but basically trash to people positively focused on birds and their conservation.

There shouldn't be any more fake stories issued regarding extinct species. History should not be trivialized by some creative writing effort by an anonymous writer, despite any weak attempt to put some spin of humor on the status of species and their history. It was basically wrong to announce the rediscovery of an extinct species. It seems the two organizations have a history for this type of grandstanding.

All foolishness aside, both Cornell University and The Nature Conservancy should issue an apologize for the April 1, 2009 article of fiction about the Carolina Parakeet.

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The following information has been received from an official at Cornell University.

"The Carolina Parakeet story did not originate with any official Cornell agency, nor AFAIK from anyone at Cornell, nor from the Nature Conservancy. If you look at the URL you will see that the "news release" is not posted on a Cornell server. It is on Google Docs, where anyone could have placed it. There has been no such thing as "Cornell News Service" for the last five years; that's an old logo, and anyone at Cornell would have known that." - April 6, 2009

Captive Parrot Shown in Details of an 1860s Quilt

A sewn image included on quilt dated to 1867 from Brooklyn, New York, depicts what is perhaps the first image known to show a Carolina Parakeet being kept as a captive bird.

The 246 x 215 centimeters Reconciliation Quilt, was made by Lucinda Ward Honstain during the Civil War era portrays forty scenes of every-day life, images that represent typical scenes of the era.

Detail of a parrot from the Reconciliation Quilt. Image courtesy of the International Quilt Study Center.

One especially interesting panel, shows a green bird in a cage.

There are several features of the bird that match the characteristics of the Carolina Parakeet, when compared to the wonderful painting by John James Audubon that shows a group of the parakeets in all their vivid color.

• general shape of the body, with its long tail
• green body color
• yellowish head
• beak shape
• tinge of yellow on the wing, similar to the natural yellow on the parakeet's wing
• similarity of the feet size and shape, and their coloration

Also, the only native parakeet in the states, was the Carolina Parakeet, and it is less likely for a non-native species to be be present, and probably less likely, be kept in captivity.

And although the wings are shown in a color that does not match the actual, natural color of the parakeet, an alternate color was probably used to distinctly convey the idea of wings, an obvious feature to show for a bird pattern. Another color would be more obvious than a different shade of green that would be more similar to a living bird's plumage.

This artistic license would also apply to the way the tail is shown, with the colors used obviously more depictive of the tail and its distinct feathers.

The Audubon image does not give a really good presentation of the parakeet's tail, so it is not easy to determine the true hues of these feathers. There are not any other known color images of these parakeets that can be used as a comparison.

Audubon's image of the Carolina Parakeet.

These two variances do not detract from the general matching of the quilt bird to the appearance of the living Carolina parrot.

A Carolina Parakeet may have been shown on the quilt because it was a bright, colorful, and raucous species, one of the most beautiful among the wild birds of the 1860s.

It is entirely possible that the quilt maker - or an acquaintance - may have had a captive bird. Perhaps it was a fledgling taken from a nesting group somewhere in the region, especially somewhere to the south in Virginia or the Carolinas where the parrots were more prevalent.

There are more than 150 known occurrences of this species from 1550 through 1857 in the historic United States that shown the widespread range of the species during the historic period. Additional sighting are available in the bird literature for more recent times.

Among the records is a journal entry that describes the taking of live birds.

In July, 1736, Commissary Von Reck, when at Ebenezer near the Abercorn landing on the Savannah River in Georgia, described how the gaudy birds were taken alive:

"The little paraquetes are green with some red and yellow feathers. They fly in large flocks and make a great crying sound when they fly. They are taken young from the nest, or else they are shot at with water that is put on a wadding of sandal-wood. They are also caught by means of heavy smoke from rosin and pitch, which stupifies them so that they fall to the ground. ..."

The captured birds taken could have been fixed for dinner or supper, used for some other unknown reason, and perhaps even kept alive to enjoy their color and life. And maybe to try to get them to talk, in the fashion parrots were capable of.

Carolina Parakeets, were known to readily adapt to the captive life.

A notation from the same period of time, mentioned how quickly the parrots adapted to being held as captives.

Of the Birds.
The Parakeetoes, are for the most part of a fine Green colour, only their Head, and part of their Wings, are of a beautiful Orange colour. They have thick Beaks of Bills, exactly like those of the Hawks. They are a Species of the Parrots, and generally about the bigness of a small pigeon. In April they feed on the Birch-buds, and seldom come down amongst the Planters until the Mulberries are ripe, which they eat, and are extremely fond of. They are likewise very mischievous to Orchards, and peck the Apples to eat the Kernels, so that the fruit quickly rots and perishes. They build their Nests in hollow Trees, in low swampy Grounds. They lie hidden in the Winter, when the Weather is extream hard and frosty, and never appear all that time. There are none of these Birds or Alligators to be met with to the North-ward of this Province, by the best Information I could learn, during my Residence in those parts. They are often taken alive with Traps, Bird-lime, &c., and will become tame and familiar in two or three Days time; yet they are not so docile or apt to learn to speak as Parrots generally are. They are most commonly very fat in the Mulberry and Fruit time, and are excellent good Food, preferably to any Pigeon. - John Brickell, M.D. 1737. The Natural History of North Carolina.

Thomas Nuttall provided some natural history for the "Carolina Parrot" - as he called it - in his treatise A Manual of the Ornithology of the United States and Canada published in 1832.

The brief description of the species characteristics was: "green; head and neck yellow; forehead and cheeks orange; tail elongated - the young without the yellow color."

Image of the Carolina parrot in Nuttall's tome on birds.

Additional details described the species' response to being kept in cavity.

"The Carolina Parrot is readily tamed, and early shows an attachment to those around who bestow any attention on its wants; it soon learns to recollect its name, and to answer and come when called on. It does not, however, evince much, if any capacity, for mimicking human speech, or sounds of any kind; and, as a domestic, is very peaceable and rather taciturn. It is extremely fond of nuts and almonds, and may be supported on the vegetable food usually given to other species. One which I saw a Tuscaloosa, a week after being disabled in the wing, seemed perfectly reconciled to its domestic condition; and as the weather was rather cold, it remained the greater part of the time in the house, climbing up the sides of the wire fender to enjoy the warmth of the fire. I was informed, that when first caught it scaled the side of the room, at night, and roosted in a hanging posture by the bill and claws; but finding the labor difficult and fruitless, having no companion near which to nestle, it soon submitted to pass the night on the back of a chair.

"When placed in a cage out of doors, in a suitable situation, the call of prisoner instantly awakens the sympathy of the passing flocks, who from the neighbouring trees sometimes enter into communion with their disabled or detained companion. A caged bird, as with some of the other species, and particularly the 'Inseparable,' is extremely pleased with the society of a companion, and they are observed to roost side by side, even thrusting their heads, at such times, into the plumage of each other, and thus, by a variety of delicate attentions, succeed in ameliorating the misfortunes of confinement and unnatural restraint. Even her own image in a looking-glass often seems to diminish the weariness of solitude, and by the side of this pleasing phantom, the Parrot or the Canary sinks satisfied to repose."

Most of the first historic references to the bright and colorful "parakeetos," or "parroquets," as they were commonly called, were to their depredations on crops, the noisy clamor when gathered in flocks, or when they were killed to make a tasty "parrot-pie."

There are also references to captive parrots in the narratives of explorers and travelers.

Christopher Gist of Great Britain explored the western frontier on two voyages.

During the first voyage to explore the Ohio country of west Virginia, on 14 April 1751 he noted: "... in climbing up the Cliffs and Rocks this Day two of our Horses fell down, and were pretty much hurt, and a Paroquete, which I got from the Indians, on the other Side of the Ohio (where there were a great many) died of a Bruise he got by a Fall; tho it was but a Trifle I was much concerned at losing Him, as he was perfectly tame, and had been very frisk all the Way, and I had still Corn enough to feed Him ..."

Gist was at the Lower Shawnee Town, along the Ohio River, in the southern part of what became the state of Ohio.

In his account of an American Journey, Moreau de St. Mery wrote in his journal: "October 13, 1794. ... On leaving Newark for Brunswick we experienced a delay rarely encountered on this route. M. Loutherbourg, son of the celebrated painter and himself a portrait painter, was traveling with us in the stage. He had with him a highly intelligent green parrot, and when he let the parrot out of his cage, the bird went and perched high up in one of the trees that bordered the road. The stage willingly stopped at the request of the grief-stricken M. Loutherbourg, who got out, called the parrot and showed him the cage, whereupon the deserter again imprisoned himself."

There are numerous other references to the parakeet being kept in captivity after the period when the Reconciliation Quilt was sewn. Early issues of ornithological journals had articles about captive birds.

A Dr. Nowotny had a pair that laid eggs, as described in an article titled "The Breeding of the Carolina Paroquet in Captivity" in the 1898 issue of Auk, a journal of ornithology.

Renowned ornithologist, Robert Ridgway had young hatch from birds he kept. One was given to an acquaintance Paul Bartsch, and was named Doodles. In 1906, Doodles was his picture taken while he was clinging to the neck of a Mr. Bryan.

The last known living Carolina Parakeet, Incas, died in captivity on 21 February 1918 at the Cincinnati Zoo.

All that now remains of the species are published notes and a few drab research skins in a museum.

The depiction in the Reconciliation Quilt adds another bit of history for a bird species that has been extinct for nine decades.

The Reconciliation Quilt was acquired in 2001 by the International Quilt Study Center. It is currently on display in the gallery of the newly opened "Quilt House," on the University of Nebraska-Lincoln campus.