Waltey
Gospodinjstvo gospe Žalobne grlice
054 MRS. MOURNING DOVE'S HOUSEKEEPING
Živalske zgodbe Clare Dillingham Pierson · Clara Dillingham PiersonO besedilu
Gospodinjstvo gospe Žalobne grlice
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- Živalske zgodbe Clare Dillingham Pierson
- Avtor
- Clara Dillingham Pierson
- Jezik branja
- Slovenščina
- Jezik izvirnika
- English
- Čas branja
- 5 min branja
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- 4 strani
- Naslov izvirnika
- 054 MRS. MOURNING DOVE'S HOUSEKEEPING
O izvirniku
Živalske zgodbe Clare Dillingham Pierson
Devetindevetdeset avtorskih zgodb o živalih na kmetiji, travniku, v gozdu, ob ribniku in ponoči. Bralni jezik je Slovenščina, izvirnik pa prihaja iz vira Živalske zgodbe Clare Dillingham Pierson v jeziku English.
Besedilo
Gospodinjstvo gospe Žalobne grlice
Naj se sliši še tako nenavadno, v gozdu vse do tega leta ni bilo še nobene žalobne grlice, in ko se je vanj priselil par, je med prebivalci završalo. Govorili so o njunem petju, tako sladkem in otožnem, pa o njunih mehkih rjavih in sivih pernatih plaščkih ter se na vso moč spraševali, kakšen dom si bosta zgradili. Bo to viseča mošnjičasta zibelka iz dlak, vrvic in puha, kakršno si spletejo kobilarji? Bo čvrst in težak kakor gnezda drozdov? Ali pa bo krogla iz listja in travnih bilk na tleh, z drobnimi vratci ob strani, kakršno si naredi zlatoglavi gozdni pevec?
Kot vidite, so se gozdni prebivalci res zelo zanimali za žalobni grlici, zato morda ni nič čudnega, da so vsi opazovali njuno gnezdo in se pogovarjali o njem, ko sta si ga nova zakonca zgradila na spodnjih vejah neke smreke.
»No, res,« je rekla Kosovka, ki je priletela iz bližnjega močvirja, »meni še na misel ne bi prišlo, da bi tisti reči rekla gnezdo! Saj je samo nekaj vejic in paličic, položenih druga čez drugo. Ploščato je kakor javorjev list in prav nič mi ni jasno, kaj naj bi uboge male grlice obvarovalo pred padcem na tla.«
»Jaz se za male grlice še ne bi skrbela,« je rekla Penica. »Mislim, da v tistem gnezdu sploh nikoli ne bo nobene male grlice. Jajca se bodo skotalila z njega, še preden se bodo mladički utegnili izvaliti, gnezdo pa bo razneslo že ob prvem neurju.«
»No,« je rekla Kosovka, ko se je odpravljala domov, »rada bi vedela, kako se bo godilo žalobnima grlicama. Če bo katera zašla v moje kraje, naj se oglasi in mi pove, kaj je novega.«
Nekaj dni zatem je Prepelica šla pod domom grlic, se po naključju ozrla navzgor in v gnezdu zagledala dve beli jajci. Gnezdo je bilo tako redko spleteno, da ju je skozi vrzeli med vejicami prav razločno videla. Pozneje istega dne je o tem pripovedovala Ruševki: »Šla sem mimo gnezda žalobnih grlic in skozi dno videla dve beli jajci.«
Ko je odšla, je Ruševka rekla divjemu Kuncu: »Prepelica mi je povedala, da sta jajci žalobne grlice padli naravnost skozi dno njenega gnezda, in prav nič se ne čudim. Saj ni bilo dovolj trdno, da bi kar koli zdržalo.«
Ob sončnem zahodu se je Kunec za kratek čas ustavil pri gospe Liščevki, ki je trgala veliko osatovo glavico in večerjala njena semena. Povedal ji je, da je slišal, kako sta jajci žalobne grlice padli skozi dno gnezda in se razbili na tleh, gospa Liščevka pa je rekla: »O, uboga gospa Žalobna grlica! Zjutraj jo moram obiskati.« Nato je odletela domov k svojim štirim bisernim zakladom.
Seveda se je Kunec motil, ko je rekel, da mu je nekdo povedal, da sta se jajci razbili; prav tako se je motila Ruševka, ko je rekla, da ji je nekdo povedal, da sta padli iz gnezda. Oba sta mislila, da govorita prav, vendar sta površno poslušala in površno pripovedovala, zato je vsak pri pripovedovanju zgodbo malce spremenil.
Naslednji dan je deževalo, pa tudi dan zatem in še naslednji dan. Gospa Liščevka si ni upala zapustiti gnezda in hoditi na obiske, da ne bi mrzle dežne kaplje premrazile in poškodovale štirih drobnih ptičkov, ki so ležali zviti v svojih lupinicah. Naposled je bilo spet toplo in sončno in gospa Liščevka se je z nekaj ptičjimi sosedami odpravila na obisk h gospe Žalobni grlici. Srečale so jo ravno ob vrnitvi s pšeničnega polja, kamor je šla po zrnje. »O, ubožica!« so vzkliknile. »Vse smo slišale. Tvoji ubogi otročički! Kako se nam smiliš!«
Gospa Žalobna grlica je pogledovala od ene do druge, kakor da ne ve, kaj naj si misli. »Kaj vendar mislite?« je zagrulila. »Moja otročička sta zdrava in lepo napredujeta. Ju ne bi prišle pogledat?«
Zdaj so bile na vrsti druge ptice, da se začudijo. »No,« so začivkale, »slišale smo, da sta tvoji jajci padli skozi gnezdo in se razbili, drobna grlička v njiju pa sta poginila. Je to res?«
»Niti besedica ni resnična,« je odgovorila gospa Žalobna grlica. »Z gnezdom je vse v redu in jajci se nista razbili, dokler ju nista moja mala ljubljenčka sama prekljuvala z ostrima kljunčkoma.«
»Tukaj sta,« je nežno dodala. »Ste že kdaj videle tako ljubka mladička? Poglejte ga, kako odpira kljunček, srček mali! In ste že kdaj videle takšen vratek, kot ga ima ona? Gospod Žalobni grlič meni, da takšnih otrok še nikoli ni bilo.«
»Toda ali ju res povsem brez skrbi puščaš v tem gnezdu?« je vljudno vprašala Kobilarica. »Moji otročički so tako nemirni, da bi si jih jaz ne upala pustiti v njem.«
»To mi vsi pravijo,« je veselo zagrulila gospa Žalobna grlica, »in bojim se, da sem res bolj slaba gospodinja, a to imamo v rodu. Z gospodom Žalobnim grličem sva vzgojila že veliko parov mladičev, pa se še nobeden ni skotalil iz gnezda ali padel skozenj in še nobenega ni odpihnilo, zato me tudi za ta dva ne skrbi. Morda nikoli ne bom tako skrbna kakor ve, spretne graditeljice, prepričana pa sem, da svojih malčkov ne morete imeti nič rajši, kot imam jaz svoja. Zelo prijazno od vas, da ste tako sočustvovale z menoj, ko ste slišale, da sem v stiski. Mislim, da imam najboljše sosede na svetu.«
Ko so obiskovalke odšle, kar niso mogle prehvaliti prijaznosti gospe Žalobne grlice in njenih krotkih, lepo vzgojenih otrok. »Škoda, da je tako nespretna pri gradnji gnezda,« je rekla Vireonka, »in zdaj razumem, kaj je mislila, ko mi je povedala, da za svoje mladičke včasih uporabijo stara drozdova gnezda. Rekla je, da jih sploščijo, dodajo nekaj vejic in da jim prav dobro služijo. Zdelo se mi je zelo čudno, da tako ravnajo, a če sama ne bi bila dobra graditeljica, bi morda storila enako.«
»Morda bi vse ravnale tako,« so se strinjale druge. »Vsekakor je zelo prijetna ptica in lepo vzgaja svoja otročička. Gospodu Žalobnemu grliču se očitno zdi popolna. Nikar ne skrbimo več zanjo.«
Izvirnik
054 MRS. MOURNING DOVE'S HOUSEKEEPING
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
Strange as it may seem, there had never been any Mourning Doves in the forest until this year, and when a pair came there to live, the people were much excited. They talked about the Doves' song, so sweet and sad, and about their soft coats of brown and gray, and they wondered very much what kind of home they would build. Would it be a swinging pocket of hairs, strings, and down, like that of the Orioles? Would it be stout and heavy like the nests of the Robins? Or would it be a ball of leaves and grasses on the ground, with a tiny doorway in one side, like that of the Ovenbird?
You can see that the forest people were really very much interested in the Mourning Doves, and so, perhaps, it is not strange that, when the new couple built their nest in the lower branches of a spruce tree, everybody watched it and talked about it.
"Really," said one of the Blackbirds, who had flown over from the swamp near by, "I never should think of calling that thing a nest! It is nothing but a few twigs and sticks laid together. It is just as flat as a maple-leaf, and what is to keep those poor little Doves from tumbling to the ground I can't see."
"I wouldn't worry about the little Doves yet," said a Warbler. "I don't think there will ever be any little Doves in that nest. The eggs will roll off of it long before they are ready to hatch, and the nest will blow to pieces in the first storm we have."
"Well," said the Blackbird, as she started for home, "I shall want to know how the Mourning Doves get on. If any of you are over my way, stop and tell me the news."
Some days after this, a Quail, passing under the Doves' home, happened to look up and see two white eggs in the nest. It was so very thin that she could see them quite plainly through the openings between the twigs. Later in the day, she spoke of this to a Grouse, saying, "I came by the Mourning Doves' nest and saw two white eggs through the bottom."
After she went away, the Grouse said to a wild Rabbit: "The Quail told me that the Mourning Dove's eggs went right through the bottom of her nest, and I don't wonder. It wasn't strong enough to hold anything."
At sunset, the Rabbit had a short visit with Mrs. Goldfinch, as she pulled a great thistle-head to pieces and made her supper from its seeds. He told her he had heard that the Mourning Dove's eggs had fallen through the bottom of the nest and broken on the ground, and Mrs. Goldfinch said: "Oh, that poor Mrs. Mourning Dove! I must go to see her in the morning." Then she fled home to her own four pearly treasures.
Now, of course the Rabbit was mistaken when he said anybody had told him that those two eggs were broken; just as much mistaken as the Grouse was when she said somebody had told her that the eggs had fallen. They both thought they were right, but they were careless listeners and careless talkers, and so each one had changed it a bit in the telling.
The next day it rained, and the next, and the next. Mrs. Goldfinch did not dare leave her nest to make calls, lest the cold raindrops should chill and hurt the four tiny birds that lay curled up in their shells. At last the weather was warm and sunshiny, and Mrs. Goldfinch and some of her bird neighbors went to call on Mrs. Mourning Dove. They found her just coming from a wheat-field, where she had been to get grain. "Oh, you poor creature!" they cried. "We have heard all about it. Your poor babies! How sorry we are for you!"
Mrs. Mourning Dove looked from one to another as though she did not know what to make of it. "What do you mean?" she cooed. "My babies are well and doing finely. Won't you come to see them?"
Then it was the turn of the other birds to be surprised. "Why," they chirped, "we heard that your eggs had fallen through your nest and had broken and killed the tiny Dove babies inside. Is it true?"
"Not a word of it," answered Mrs. Mourning Dove. "The nest is all right, and the eggs were not broken until my two little darlings broke them with their sharp beaks."
"Here they are," she added, fondly. "Did you ever see such pretty ones? See him open his bill, the dear! And did you ever see such a neck as she has? Mr. Mourning Dove thinks there never were such children."
"But do you feel perfectly safe to leave them in that nest?" asked the Oriole politely. "My babies are so restless that I should be afraid to trust them in it."
"That is what people always say," answered Mrs. Mourning Dove, with a happy coo, "and I fear that I am a rather poor housekeeper, but it runs in our family. Mr. Mourning Dove and I have raised many pairs of children, and they never rolled out, or tumbled through, or blew away, and I do not worry about these. I shall never be thrifty like you good builders, perhaps, but I'm sure you cannot love your little ones any more than I do mine. It was very kind of you to be so sorry for me when you heard I was in trouble. I think I have the best neighbors in the world."
When her callers went away, they could not say enough about Mrs. Mourning Dove's pleasant ways, and her gentle, well-behaved children. "It is too bad she is such a poor nest-maker," the Vireo said, "and I understand now what she meant when she told me that they sometimes used old Robins' nests for their young. She said they flattened them out and added a few twigs, and that they did finely. I thought it very queer in them to do so, but perhaps if I had not been a good builder I should have done the same thing."
"Perhaps we all would," the others agreed. "She certainly is a very pleasant bird, and she is bringing up her children well. Mr. Mourning Dove seems to think her perfect. We won't worry any more about her."
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