The Birds of My Father

The birds of my father? Two times, when I was 5 and 7, my father hunted them and put them in jail: canaries, cardinals, corobatitas (little tie is what the word means, because they have such at their throats,) jiligueros, and mixtos. They had to be separated, if not, they’d fight. The cage was baited with food, and they came. We had 7 to 10 cages on the walls, and in the night, in the kitchen, where it was warm. My father told me that I was the only person he knew that got the birds to trust me enough to step onto my finger. With a long time, (depending on the character of the bird, of course,) I got them to eat, bath, and finally, sleep on my finger. With some birds, this never happens.