A MEANDER TO THE MENAGERIE

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XVIII, Issue 139, 26 May 1928, Page 11

A MEANDER TO THE MENAGERIE

CORNWALL PARK’S ATTRACTIONS.

FISH, FEATHERS AND FUN. It was a sunny, wide-awake morning when I strolled over to Cornwall Park to see our budding “zoo The splendid tints of autumn were laid on the trees in b° !d , (do™* wonjs(By the wav. we don’t realise the wonderful shades and tones of green there are in our trees; a Sydney visitor exclaimed over it, saying that the trees in Sydney were all of a uniform shade of green). Beside the miniature lake are the still more diminutive pools, vet each is charming One is surrounded by bonfire salvias and hardv begonias, the surface of the water reflecting the crimson hues until the pool looks like a liquid ruby. Another pool is still, with flitting orange, white and brown shadows that are carp. Thev are not very dainty eaters—one glides to the bottom of the pool, makes an expert, mental dive at something, chews it over, and ejects a mouthful of mud. Of course, an old wives’ tale says that you eat a pound of dirt in a life-time, but these little beggars exceed their allotted share! Now to the birds. Two little crested doves of a soft fawny-grey colour, sat on a perch and practised the rule of “Do unto others—’’ as they searched busily through each other’s neck feathers with their beaks. This done, a little ardent flirtation was indulged in “Business before pleasure’’ is evidently their motto! Someone with a humorous turn of mind has put two tortoises in one of the cages, with goldfinches, canaries, and other flighty little “fluflies.’’ I wonder whether this was intended to have a steadying effect on the birds, or was it an endeavour to “jazz up’’ old “slow-but-sure?" , , The pheasants make a brilliant display, at least the male birds do. but the hens are very quiet and brown and unassuming. The position is reversed in our world, where tne men cling determinedly for years to neutral tints, while the wives put on the “pretties.’’ - Old Polly the parrot, sits up aloft looking like a wise old owl, but soon abandons her appearance of wisdom, and comes down to have a little feminine gossip. Hers is a hard, dry little tongue, and she clacks. “Fine feathers make fine birds! Humph! I have my doubts about that!” as her beady black eyes glance sideways to the enclosure where the pheasants have their flat. The poor old white silkie fowl looks like a very disreputable feather bed in a frenzy. There are other birds of course, but we must see the monkeys and wallabies before going home for lunch. The monkeys are the main attraction—you feel you just have to watch another five minutes to see the next funny trick—and then you are lost. The black spider monkey doesn’t look very attractive—nothing but long thin arms, long thin legs, long thin tail, and a mournfully ugly little face. Still, it would be rather nleasing to be able to stretch your left arm across your front, round the back, and scratch your left side—so handy for reaching that unattainable spot between the shoulder blades, or to be able to twist a tail into a becoming loop, and carry the end curled gracefully on your back. The little marmoset is as quick and active as a dragon-fly and as cheeky as a chipmunk. Since hi s arrival here. 1 wonder how many parents have been assailed with the question. “Oh, Mum can’t we buy a monkey for ourselves?” The three wallabies next claim the attention, and here is found one of the most wonderful contrivances of nature—Mrs Wallaby, with her baby

in her pouch. He had his head out, taking an interest in outside affairs—a sleek, brown little head, like that of a tiny spaniel pup. Presently he thought it would be fun to get out of his soft nest and have a stroll, so the head disappeared, a violent struggle took place, a skinny foot, and part of a black rat-like tail appeared, but. “there was nothing doing.” While all this commotion was taking place the mother was unconcernedly eating, taking not one scrap of notice of her energetic offspring, who gave up the attempt in disgust and went to sleep.