When Jim Crow became a member of our family he was very young, and could hardly balance himself upon his slender legs.
We fed him upon raw eggs and scraps of raw meat until he grew strong and the black feathers had become smooth and glossy, and the bright eyes were brighter, and Jim Crow had changed into a beautiful bird.
A smart bird was Jim, devoted to his master and mistress, hailing them
with a loud caw whenever their steps were heard, and hopping about to
greet them.
Jim could talk a little, and would have acquired much more knowledge
of the language if he had lived longer.
He would spread his wings, purple in their deep black, and call in a hoarse voice, “Come on, come on,” very distinctly.
He would greet his master with “Hello, Papa,” and delighted in feeding from his hand. He knew when the butcher boy came with the meat, and was at the cook’s side when she received the basket, croaking for his share.
Jim delighted in a plunge bath, and would splash away in an earthern crock a dozen times a day, if it was filled for him.
He liked red and blue, and if ladies called at the house dressed in these colors, the young crow would become frantic, spreading his wings and tail, and crying, “Come on, Come on,” to the amusement of all.
He would often eat corn with the chickens, and would act in a very greedy way, filling his bill with the grain, rushing away and hiding it, then coming back for more. If the chickens did not eat as fast as they could, Jim had the lion’s share.
Jim was hurt one day by a stray dog, and then we didn’t have a crow any more.
We fed him upon raw eggs and scraps of raw meat until he grew strong and the black feathers had become smooth and glossy, and the bright eyes were brighter, and Jim Crow had changed into a beautiful bird.
A smart bird was Jim, devoted to his master and mistress, hailing them
with a loud caw whenever their steps were heard, and hopping about to
greet them.
Jim could talk a little, and would have acquired much more knowledge
of the language if he had lived longer.
He would spread his wings, purple in their deep black, and call in a hoarse voice, “Come on, come on,” very distinctly.
He would greet his master with “Hello, Papa,” and delighted in feeding from his hand. He knew when the butcher boy came with the meat, and was at the cook’s side when she received the basket, croaking for his share.
Jim delighted in a plunge bath, and would splash away in an earthern crock a dozen times a day, if it was filled for him.
He liked red and blue, and if ladies called at the house dressed in these colors, the young crow would become frantic, spreading his wings and tail, and crying, “Come on, Come on,” to the amusement of all.
He would often eat corn with the chickens, and would act in a very greedy way, filling his bill with the grain, rushing away and hiding it, then coming back for more. If the chickens did not eat as fast as they could, Jim had the lion’s share.
Jim was hurt one day by a stray dog, and then we didn’t have a crow any more.
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