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Florida (Extermination of the Paroquet)

(On the extermination of the Paroquet, see Hasbrouck, Auk, viii, 1891, pp. 369-379, with map; and Butler, ibid., ix, 1892, pp. 49-56.) Nest, said to be in a hollow cypress or sycamore tree, but no exact, detailed account of the nidification of this species has been published. Eggs, two, white, 1.44 × 1.12.

The complete extermination of the Paroquet throughout the greater part of its range is due chiefly to four causes: first, it was destructive to fruit orchards, and for this reason was killed by agriculturists; second, it has been trapped and bagged in enormous numbers by professional bird-catchers; third, it has been killed in myriads for its plumage; and, fourth, it has been wantonly slaughtered by so-called sportsmen. In short, in the present century the Paroquet has always disappeared soon after its haunts were invaded by civilized man. I made three visits to Florida before learning of a locality where Paroquets could be found. Finally, in March, 1889, while collecting PAROQUETS. in eastern Florida, information was received of their presence near the head waters of the Sebastian River, a small stream flowing into the Indian River near Micco, and I at once started for this locality. The following notes made on this trip are from the Abstract of the Proceedings of the Linnæan Society of New York city, No. 2, 1890, pp. 5, 6. Since they were written the Paroquet has been found to be a locally common bird in the unsettled parts of Brevard, Osceola, Polk, De Soto, and Dade Counties.

Late on the afternoon of our arrival we started a flock of seven Paroquets from a productive patch of the thistles (Cirsium lecontei) which proved to be their favorite food. Evidently their meal was finished and they were ready to retire, for they darted like startled Doves through the pines, twisting and turning in every direction, and flying with such rapidity they were soon lost to view, the ring of their sharp, rolling call alone furnishing proof it was not all a vision. Two days passed before I again met Conurus, and this time to better advantage. It was a wet and drizzling morning when we found a flock of six birds feeding on thistles at the edge of a "prairie." Perched on the leafless branches of the tree before us, their brilliant green plumage showed to the best advantage. Several were skillfully dissecting the thistles they held in their feet, biting out the milky seed while the released fluffy down floated away beneath them. There was a sound of suppressed conversation; half-articulate calls. We were only partially concealed behind a neighboring tree, still they showed no great alarm at our presence; curiosity was apparently the dominant feeling. One of the three birds which fell at our fire was but slightly wounded, a single shot passing through the elbow, and his loud outcries soon recalled his companions-a habit which has cost thousands of them their lives, and in part, at least, accounts for the rapidity of their extermination-and one alone of this flock escaped. There was evident regularity in the habits of the birds we afterward observed-in all about fifty, in flocks of from six to twenty. At an early hour they left their roost in the "hummock" bordering the river and passed out into the pines to feed, always, so far as I observed, selecting thistle patches, and eating the seeds only when in the milky stage. At about ten o'clock they returned to the "hummock" and apparently to some favorite tree, here to pass the rest of the morning and early afternoon, when they again started out to feed, returning to the roost just before sunset. A flock of these birds feeding among the thistles is a most beautiful and animated sight; one is almost persuaded not to disturb them. There is constant movement as they fly from plant to plant, or, when securing thistles, they fly with them in their bills to a neighboring tree, there to dissect them at their CUCKOOS. leisure. The loud rolling call was apparently uttered only when on the wing, but when at rest, or feeding, there was a low conversational murmur of half-articulate, querulous notes and calls. Of their roosting habits I can say little or nothing. Late one morning (March 15th) we found a flock of eight birds resting on a tall, dead cypress near the center of the "hummock" on the river's bank. On a previous expedition my guide had observed them in this same tree, which was evidently a favorite midday haunt, and it is not impossible they may have roosted in the hole we discovered near its top.