Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

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92 TEE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE a plaster cell around her, leaving only a narrow slit for her bill. For the space of three months he constantly watches over her, feeding her thru the aperture. Sometimes he will not leave the tree for days at a time." "But," said Kitty, smiling, "what does he feed her with, then ? ' ' ' ' Ah ! ' ' Kiernan said. ' ' I expected that. And here is where the sacrifice comes in. The hornbill has the curious ability to secrete food in its stomach and to give it up again on demand. This he is constantly doing, and while the prisoner waxes fat in her cosy room, he becomes as lean as a match-stick, and often dies from exposure and starvation. ' ' "It is more than unselfishness," Kitty murmured. ' ' It is away beyond us in domestic science." As we turned away, the unblended noises of twittering, piping, craking and quooking seemed to chorus assent. On our way to the lion house we stopped at a little enclosure, and saw a dilapidated camel and her calf sunning in the open. "What ails her?" queried Kitty. "She looks for all the world like a moth-eaten fur rug." 1 ' They 're doing their annual shed, ' ' said Kiernan, ' ' and kind-hearted people ask us why we don 't do something for them. If you come here in about two weeks, you'll see them in their new outfits. No," he anticipated, "the baby doesn't shed this year." A heavy, damp odor of musk wafted to us down the path. "Ye desecrated cologne factories," said Kitty, holding her mite of a nose. Kiernan laughed. "It's hard to tell where it comes from," he said, 1 1 but on this breeze it 's probably from the oxen. Lord bless you! We get all varieties of it here. Musk cats, musk rats, musk deer, musk ducks, musk bugs — why, it 's even* among the reptiles and fishes." We made our way into the massive lion house, and Kiernan turned serious again. "You'll excuse me," he said, turning to Kitty, "but my little manicuring job is on." He walked briskly ahead, and we followed, past the long rows of dens, each with its shrinking or striding form. Kiernan stopped in front of "Prince Roland's" den, where three keepers were waiting for him. Two of them were armed with heavy straps, noosed at the end, one with a long soft-wood pole. The "Prince" himself paced his barred den fretfully, treading on tender feet. Kiernan walked up to the bars and held thru a calm hand, which the lion nozzled lovingly. His men deftly slipped the straps above the beast's front paws and held them firmly down close to the bars. Then nodding to the pole man to stand by, he pulled out a heavy instrument like a pruning shears, and clipped a claw. The lion house seemed filled with unholy rage. "Prince Roland" roared, while whines, groans and answering roars came from surrounding dens. A second claw dropped mercilessly off, and the beast, demented with rage; gnashed at the bars with a creaming mouth. The pole man thrust in his pole, and the animal gripped it with longing teeth. And so the process went on — a clipped claw, a roar, and a tussle with the splintered pole. Kiernan turned to us, while the beast licked his manhandled paws. "You see," he said, trembling slightly, "it's this way with all the cat family. When they're cooped up, their claws grow longer than nature intended, and, unless they're clipped, curl up into the pad of the foot. It hurts to see them clipped, but it's worse to see them worry and starve when they're lame." "Oh! Mr. Kiernan," Kitty said impulsively, "I never knew keepers had any feeling before. That is, ' ' she stammered, "I thought " "I know we're a hard lot, from Noah up," interposed Kiernan, "but you should see old De Vry, our super, pottering around after us with oil and bandages. He's a regular surgeon and field nurse and charity sister to the animals."