The French often use a bitter and biting humour in speaking of the enemy. For instance, amongst the many pets of the men, the strangest I saw was a small hawk sitting on the wrist of a soldier who had trained him. The bird was the personification of evil. If anyone approached, he snapped at them and endeavoured to bite them. I asked the man why he kept him, and he replied that they had quite good sport in the trenches when they allowed the hawk to hunt small birds and field-mice. Then, his expression changing from jovial good-humour to grimness, he added: "You know, I call him 'Zepp,' because he kills the little ones" ("parcequ'il tue les tous petits"). In one small cantonment where 200 _poilus_ sang, shouted, ate, drank, and danced together to the strain of a wheezy gramophone, or in one word were "resting," I started to investigate the various kinds of pets owned by the troopers. Cats, dogs, and monkeys were common, whilst one _poilu_ was the proud possessor of a parrot which he had purchased from a refugee obliged to fly from his home. He hastened to assure us that the bird had learned his "vocabulary" from his former proprietor. A study in black and white was a group of three or four white mice, nestling against the neck of a Senegalais. The English Tommy is quite as devoted to animals as is his French brother. I remember crossing one bitter February day from Boulogne to Folkestone. Alongside the boat, on the quay at Boulogne, were lined up the men who had been granted leave. Arrayed in their shaggy fur coats, they resembled little the smart British Tommy of peace times. It was really wonderful how much the men managed to conceal under those fur coats, or else the eye of the officer inspecting them was intentionally not too keen. Up the gangway trooped the men, and I noticed that two of them walked slowly and cautiously. The boat safely out of harbour, one of them produced from his chest a large tabby cat, whilst the other placed a fine cock on the deck. It was a cock with the true Gaelic spirit: before the cat had time to consider the situation it had sprung on its back. The cat beat a hasty retreat into the arms of its protector, who replaced it under his coat. Once in safety, it stuck out its head and swore at the cock, which, perched on a coil of rope, crowed victoriously. Both animals had been the companions of the men whilst in the trenches, and they were bringing them home.