But to return from this digression. As I have already spoken of my hunting, I must now tell you about my fowling. Kind as the Turks are to all animals, they are especially so to birds, and most of all to the kites, whom they regard as useful scavengers of their city. Accordingly these creatures, having neither snares nor missiles to fear, are to be found in numbers at Constantinople, and are wonderfully tame. They come at one’s whistle, and pounce on pieces of food which are thrown into the air. My plan is to order a sheep to be killed; the kites are then whistled for, and fragments of the offal are thrown into the air. In a moment some ten, twelve, or twenty appear, and presently they gather so thick as almost to overshadow the house. Some are so bold that they will snatch the meat from my people’s hands as they hold it out. Meanwhile I post myself behind a pillar with my crossbow,[169] pick out a kite, and make my clay bullets rattle on its wings or tail, till I have brought down one or two. I am obliged to bolt my gates before indulging in this sport for fear of irritating the Turks. Talking of birds, I must tell you about my partridges, so that you may have a full account of all my amusements, and may perhaps feel the same surprise about the habits of these birds that I did. I had some partridges from Chios with red beaks and red legs, so tame that they became quite tiresome. They were continually at my feet, beating the dust from my velvet slippers with their beaks to dust themselves with. They got so troublesome that I ordered them to be shut up in a room, where they grew so fat that they died after a few days’ confinement. At least this is the account my servants give, and the question is whether to believe them or Pliny, for the latter has a passage to the effect that hares and partridges never grow fat. So far you have no ground for surprise, but listen to the rest of the story. Chios abounds in birds of this kind, which live there in the houses. Almost every peasant keeps more or less of them, according to his means or inclination. At dawn the public herd summons them by a whistle, and they run out in crowds, and gather on the road. Then following their keeper, like sheep do with us, they go into the fields, where they feed and sun themselves all day long. Towards evening they are recalled by the same signal, and return home in a body to their several roosts. This habit is said to be formed by the peasants putting the birds, as soon as they are hatched, into their bosom inside their shirt, and so carrying them about and nursing them for a day or two, lifting them from time to time to their mouth and feeding them with spittle. They become attached to their masters by such kind treatment (for indeed almost every animal has a more lasting feeling of gratitude than man), and do not forget those who nursed them. One precaution only must be taken; they must not be allowed to pass the night in the fields, for if this should occur