Animals, Birds, and Dr. Dolittle Questions & Answers | Class 7 English | CBSE NCERT

(b) — the extract directly states that he "had come to see him with a stomach-ache."

(a) — she was "sitting in the window looking out at the rain and singing a sailor song to herself."

(c) — Polynesia was "looking out at the rain," and later the Doctor puts flowerpots outside "to get the rain."

True — she "stopped singing and started to listen" as soon as the Cat's-food-Man asked the Doctor to be an animal doctor.

The Cat's-food-Man asks the Doctor why he does not give up being a people's doctor and become an animal doctor instead. He believes Dolittle knows far more about animals than the local vets do.

The conversation was about animals and about the Doctor treating them, which mattered greatly to a bird like Polynesia. She sensed that the suggestion could change the Doctor's life — and her own — so she wanted to hear every word.

(b) — the Cat's-food-Man says the Doctor "know(s) all about animals—much more than what these vets here do" and praises the book he wrote about cats.

(c) — the Cat's-food-Man says, "my wife, Theodosia, is a scholar, and she read your book to me."

(b) — a scholar is a learned, educated person; that is why Theodosia could read the Doctor's book aloud.

cats (he says, "You might have been a cat yourself. You know the way they think.")

Polynesia tells the Doctor that the man "has got sense" and that the Doctor ought to become an animal doctor. She asks him to "give the silly people up" and take care of animals instead, assuring him that animals will soon find out how good he is.

Polynesia is a sharp-tongued, confident and opinionated bird who clearly prefers animals to human beings. She believes people are foolish not to appreciate the Doctor, and she does not hesitate to say so bluntly to his face.

(b) — he replies, "Oh, there are plenty of animal doctors," which shows he is not yet convinced that the world needs another one.

(c) — she says, "Yes, there are plenty... But none of them are any good at all."

(b) — she proudly declares, "we parrots can talk in two languages—people's language and bird language."

biscuit.

She first speaks people's language — "Polly wants a cracker" — which the Doctor understands. Then she says "Ka-ka oiee, fee-fee?" in bird language, which the Doctor cannot understand, proving that she really can speak two languages.

It shows that Polynesia is pleased and a little vain about her rare talent. Being able to speak both people's language and bird language makes her special among birds, and she enjoys showing it off.

(b) — Polynesia explains, "That means, 'Is the porridge hot yet?'—in bird language."

(c) — he cries "Good Gracious!", exclaims "My! You don't say so!", then rushes for a book and pencil, saying, "This is interesting—very interesting—something quite new."

(c) — she asks, "What would have been the good?" and says plainly, "You wouldn't have understood me if I had."

Birds' A.B.C.

The moment he hears bird language, the Doctor gets "all excited," fetches a book and pencil, and asks Polynesia to go slowly so he can write everything down. His curiosity and eagerness to learn something completely new show the spirit of a true scholar.

Yes — she teaches with examples, first showing how people's language works and then bird language, so the Doctor can compare. She also agrees to slow down ("slowly now") and spends the whole rainy afternoon patiently giving him bird words for his book.

(b) — she says, "They talk with their ears, with their feet, with their tails—with everything."

(b) — Polynesia translates the nose-twitching as a question: "Can't you see that it has stopped raining?"

(c) — she states, "Dogs nearly always use their noses for asking questions."

Jip.

After learning the language of the animals so well that he could talk to them and understand everything they said, he gave up being a people's doctor altogether. Now that he could truly communicate with animals, treating them became his life's work.

The extract reminds us that a pet wagging its tail, twitching its nose or moving its ears may actually be "saying" something. Even without Dolittle's gift, we can observe animals carefully and try to understand their feelings, needs and questions.

(a) — old ladies brought pet pugs and poodles that had eaten too much cake, and farmers brought sick cows and sheep.

(b) — the horse says, "I am going blind in one eye" and repeats, "What I need is spectacles."

(b) — the horse complains that the vet "never even looked at my eyes," kept giving him big pills, and "couldn't understand a word of horse language."

cake.

After six weeks of useless treatment from a vet who could not understand him, the horse had finally found a man who could talk in horse language. At last he could explain exactly where the problem was — his failing eyesight — and be properly treated.

The horse thinks logically and questions the human assumption that spectacles are only for people. Since his eyesight is failing just as a person's would, he reasons that glasses should work for horses too — showing that animals in this story are as sensible and thoughtful as humans.

(b) — the horse explains, "They'll keep the Sun out of my eyes while I'm ploughing the field."

(b) — he says, "anybody thinks he can doctor animals—just because the animals don't complain."

(c) — the Doctor promises, "I'll have them for you next week... Come in again Tuesday."

cleverer.

The Doctor agrees at once — "Of course—of course... I'll get you some at once" — and even promises the special green colour without argument. This shows that he is kind, respectful of his animal patients' wishes, and eager to help.

The horse means that animal patients cannot describe their pain in words, so the doctor cannot simply ask them where it hurts; he must be clever enough to find out for himself. I agree — a doctor who must diagnose a silent patient needs sharper observation and skill, which is exactly what Doctor Dolittle later provides by learning their language.

(b) — the extract says the plough horse "stopped going blind in one eye and could see as well as ever."

(a) — "it became a common sight to see farm animals wearing glasses in the countryside, round Puddleby," and a blind horse became unknown there.

(b) — since the animals found he could talk their language, "they told him where the pain was and how they felt," and so his cures were easy.

bats.

Every animal he cured went back and told its brothers and friends that in the little house with the big garden lived a doctor "who really was a doctor." Soon not only horses, cows and dogs but even harvest mice, badgers and bats came straight to him whenever they fell sick.

Animals came from everywhere and waited in his big garden, which shows they trusted him completely and felt safe with him. For wild and timid creatures like mice and bats to visit a human's house willingly, he must have been gentle and kind to every one of them.

(b) — "There were so many that came that he had to have special doors made for the different kinds."

(c) — the Doctor wrote 'HORSES' over the front door, 'COWS' over the side door, and 'SHEEP' on the kitchen door.

(b) — even the mice "had a tiny tunnel made for them into the cellar."

patiently.

The Doctor made a separate door for every kind of animal, from the largest horses to the tiniest mice, and even built a tunnel so the mice could reach the cellar. No creature was too small or unimportant for his care and attention.

They probably felt safe, calm and hopeful, because they had come to a doctor who understood them. Even the little mice waited "patiently," which shows they trusted him to attend to each one in turn.

(b) — "in a few years' time, every living thing for miles and miles got to know about John Dolittle, M.D."

(b) — "the birds who flew to other countries in the winter told the animals in foreign lands about Dolittle who could understand their talk."

(b) — the closing line says, "He was happy and liked his life very much."

world.

It shows that his fame was not limited to Puddleby or to one kind of animal. Every creature in the surrounding countryside — and through the winter birds, even animals in foreign lands — had heard of the doctor who could understand their talk and help them in their troubles.

His happiness came from doing meaningful work that he loved — helping creatures who could not help themselves. Being useful to so many animals, and being loved and trusted by them in return, gave him more satisfaction than his old life as a people's doctor ever did.

Polynesia was Doctor Dolittle's parrot. When the story opens, she is sitting in the window of the Doctor's kitchen, looking out at the rain and singing a sailor song to herself.

He advised the Doctor to give up being a people's doctor and become an animal doctor. His reason was that Dolittle knew all about animals — much more than the local vets — as shown by the wonderful book he had written about cats.

The Cat's-food-Man could not read or write himself. His wife Theodosia was a scholar, and she read the Doctor's book about cats aloud to him.

Polynesia meant that parrots can speak both people's language (like "Polly wants a cracker") and bird language (like "Ka-ka oiee, fee-fee?"). People can understand the first, but only birds understand the second.

She knew it would have been useless, because the Doctor would not have understood a word of bird language. She only spoke it once he had begun learning about animal talk.

Excited by Polynesia's revelation, he rushed for a book and a pencil and asked her to speak slowly while he wrote the words down. He began with the Birds' A.B.C., and all that rainy afternoon Polynesia gave him bird words for his notebook.

Polynesia explains that animals talk with their ears, feet, tails — "with everything." For example, dogs nearly always use their noses for asking questions, as Jip did when he twitched one side of his nose.

The twitching of one side of Jip's nose meant, "Can't you see that it has stopped raining?" Polynesia explained that Jip was asking the Doctor a question with his nose.

Old ladies brought him pet pugs and poodles who had eaten too much cake, and farmers came from many miles away with sick cows and sheep. Later even a plough horse, harvest mice, badgers and bats came to him.

The horse said that the vet "knows nothing at all." For six weeks he treated the horse with big pills without once looking at his eyes, and he could not understand a word of horse language, so the horse could never explain his real problem.

He wanted a pair like the Doctor's, only green, because green lenses would keep the Sun out of his eyes while he was ploughing the field.

He says it takes a much cleverer man to be a really good animal doctor than to be a good people's doctor, because animals cannot complain in words, so anyone wrongly assumes that treating them is easy.

The horse stopped going blind in one eye and could see as well as ever. Soon farm animals wearing glasses became a common sight round Puddleby, and a blind horse became a thing unknown there.

As soon as the animals found that he could talk their language, they told him where the pain was and how they felt. With a clear description of the trouble, it was easy for him to cure them.

Besides horses, cows and dogs, all the little things of the fields — harvest mice, badgers and bats — came at once to his house on the edge of the town whenever they were sick.

He had special doors made for the different kinds of animals — 'HORSES' over the front door, 'COWS' over the side door and 'SHEEP' on the kitchen door. Even the mice got a tiny tunnel into the cellar, where they waited patiently in rows.

Every animal he cured told its brothers and friends about him, and the birds who flew to other countries in winter carried his fame to foreign lands. Within a few years, every living thing for miles and miles knew of him.

A scholar is a learned or well-educated person. In the story, the Cat's-food-Man's wife, Theodosia, is described as a scholar because she could read books.

A compound word is formed by combining two words of different parts of speech to create a new word with its own meaning. 'Cat's-food-Man' is a hyphenated compound, and 'flowerpots' is a closed compound from the story.

A palindrome is a word or phrase that reads the same backwards as forwards. In the horse's words, "that stupid man over the hill never even looked at my eyes," the phrase 'never even' is a palindrome.

Polynesia was a natural teacher. She began with an example the Doctor already knew — "Polly wants a cracker" — and then contrasted it with bird language ("Ka-ka oiee, fee-fee?") so he could see the difference. She respected his pace, warning him "don't go too fast," and patiently spent a whole rainy afternoon giving him bird words for his notebook. Later she continued his education through live examples, translating what Jip's nose-twitching meant. Under her guidance, the Doctor learned so well that he could talk to animals himself.

The learning happened in clear steps. First, the Cat's-food-Man's suggestion and Polynesia's firm support opened the Doctor's mind to the idea of treating animals. Then Polynesia revealed the great secret — that animals can talk — and demonstrated bird language. The excited Doctor fetched a book and pencil and noted down the Birds' A.B.C. and bird words through the whole afternoon. At teatime, Polynesia taught him to read animal body language — how Jip talked with his nose and ears. After a while, with the parrot's help, the Doctor could speak to the animals and understand everything they said, and he gave up being a people's doctor altogether.

The vet over the hill treated the horse for six weeks with big pills without ever examining his eyes, because he could not understand horse language and assumed the problem for himself. Doctor Dolittle, on the other hand, listened to the horse describe his own trouble — failing eyesight — and at once promised him spectacles, in the green colour the horse wanted. The result was instant: the horse stopped going blind and could see as well as ever. The difference lies in communication — the ability to listen made the cure easy.

The horse's argument is that anybody thinks he can doctor animals just because animals do not complain in words. A human patient can tell the doctor exactly where it hurts, but an animal patient cannot, so the animal doctor gets no help from his patient's speech. He must diagnose the trouble entirely through observation and knowledge. The vet over the hill proves this — he treated the horse for six weeks without ever discovering that the real problem was his eyes. A truly good animal doctor therefore needs far greater skill and careful attention.

The Doctor's arrangements show his care for every creature, big or small. He heard each animal's own account of its pain, since all of them could talk to him in their language. When the crowds grew large, he had separate doors made for different animals — 'HORSES' at the front door, 'COWS' at the side door, 'SHEEP' at the kitchen door — so each kind could enter in an orderly way. Even the tiniest visitors, the mice, were given their own little tunnel into the cellar, where they waited patiently in rows for him to come round to them one by one.

Three qualities stand out. First, his knowledge: he had even written a wonderful book about cats, and knew more about animals than the local vets. Second, his willingness to learn: he excitedly took notes on bird language through a whole rainy afternoon. Third, his kindness and respect for animals: he promised the plough horse green spectacles "at once," cured every creature from cows to mice, and made special doors and even a mouse tunnel for their comfort. News of this rare human spread until every living thing for miles and miles, and animals in foreign lands too, knew of him.

The Doctor was a grown, educated man, yet he did not dismiss the idea when it came from two humble sources — a Cat's-food-Man and a parrot. He listened carefully to Polynesia, asked questions, and acted on her advice by learning animal language and changing his profession. Had he thought himself too wise to heed a bird, he would never have discovered the animals' world or found his true calling. The story shows that valuable guidance can come from anyone, however small or unlikely the speaker may seem.

The closing line is the reward of the whole story. The Doctor had risked changing his profession on the advice of a parrot, and the ending confirms that his decision was right. He is no longer an ordinary people's doctor; he is famous among animals all over the world, loved by every creature from horses to harvest mice, and busy with work that fills him with joy. The line tells the reader that true happiness comes from finding and following the work one is meant for.

If everyone could understand animals, the world would change greatly. We would know exactly when an animal is in pain, hungry or frightened, and veterinary care would become as precise as human medicine. People would no longer be able to ignore animals' suffering, so cruelty towards them would reduce sharply. We might learn surprising things — how animals think, feel and see the world — and treat them with real respect. However, we might also lose the peace of not knowing every complaint, just as the Doctor's garden was always crowded with patients!

For six weeks I suffered under the vet over the hill, swallowing big pills for an illness he never bothered to find out. Then I heard of a doctor who could talk in horse language. When I met him, I poured out my whole complaint — that I was going blind in one eye and needed spectacles. He agreed at once and even let me choose green lenses to keep the Sun out while I ploughed. Within a week I could see as well as ever. That man over the hill never even looked at my eyes; this Doctor truly listened, and that is why he cured me.

Doctor John Dolittle is one of the most lovable characters in children's literature. He is, first of all, knowledgeable and accomplished even before the story begins — he has written a book about cats so insightful that the Cat's-food-Man declares, "You might have been a cat yourself. You know the way they think." Secondly, he is humble and open-minded: although he is a qualified doctor, he listens patiently to advice from a cat's-food seller and, more remarkably, from a parrot. Thirdly, he is curious and eager to learn — when he hears bird language for the first time, he rushes for a book and pencil, crying, "This is interesting—very interesting—something quite new," and studies all afternoon while it rains. Fourthly, he is kind and respectful towards animals: he promises the plough horse green spectacles "at once," and accepts the horse's lecture about clever animal doctors with a mild "Well, well!" Finally, he is hardworking and devoted: he treats every animal from cows and sheep down to harvest mice, badgers and bats, and makes special doors and a mouse tunnel for their convenience. Small wonder that within a few years he became famous among the animals all over the world — and was happy doing it.

Polynesia is the witty, wise and slightly bossy heart of the story. She is observant: when the Cat's-food-Man suggests the change of profession, she stops her sailor song at once and listens carefully. She is bold and outspoken: the moment the visitor leaves, she flies onto the Doctor's table and tells him flatly to "give the silly people up" and "be an animal doctor." She is proud of her gifts, declaring that parrots can talk "in two languages—people's language and bird language," and proving it with "Ka-ka oiee, fee-fee?" She is also a born teacher: she begins with familiar words like "Polly wants a cracker," warns the Doctor "don't go too fast," and spends a rainy afternoon dictating bird words for his notebook. Her teaching continues with live examples, such as translating Jip's nose-twitching as a question about the rain. In short, Polynesia is the Doctor's guide, teacher and conscience — without her, the world would never have gained its greatest animal doctor. Her sharp tongue and warm loyalty make her as memorable as Dolittle himself.

The central theme is that understanding is the foundation of both healing and friendship — a bond of trust grows only when we can truly listen to another being. The story develops this idea step by step. At first, the Doctor treats people and knows animals only from the outside, through books. Polynesia then reveals that animals can talk, opening the door to genuine understanding. As the Doctor learns bird language and then the language of all animals, the difference is immediate: the plough horse, unheard by the vet over the hill for six weeks, is cured by Dolittle in a single visit, because he can finally explain his failing eyes. The theme widens as word spreads — animals from cows to bats crowd his garden because he is the one human who understands them. A supporting theme is the joy of finding one's true calling: the story ends with Dolittle famous among animals worldwide and happy, showing that work done with love and understanding brings fulfilment.

The story teaches several lasting values. The first is kindness to animals: Dolittle cures creatures that others ignore — even the "little things of the fields, like harvest mice, badgers, and bats" — and makes special doors and a tiny tunnel so that every animal, big or small, is comfortable. The second is respect: he never talks down to his animal patients but accepts their views, as when he patiently hears the plough horse's complaint that "anybody thinks he can doctor animals—just because the animals don't complain," and responds only with a gentle "Well, well!" The third is the value of listening: the Doctor's life changes because he heeds a humble Cat's-food-Man and, more remarkably, a parrot. The fourth is the love of learning: he studies bird language all through a rainy afternoon with a book and pencil, calling it "something quite new." Finally, the story celebrates service: Dolittle finds his happiness not in wealth but in helping "every living thing for miles and miles." These values — kindness, respect, listening, learning and service — are the real prescription the story offers its readers.

Doctor Dolittle's great secret was not a medicine but a method: he listened. In our world, doctors who give patients time to describe their symptoms accurately usually diagnose better — exactly why the plough horse was cured in one visit by Dolittle after six failed weeks with the vet who "never even looked at my eyes." The idea extends beyond human medicine. Our pets cannot speak, but they communicate constantly through body language — the twitch of a nose, the wag of a tail, the droop of ears — just as Polynesia taught the Doctor that animals "talk with their ears, with their feet, with their tails—with everything." A responsible pet owner learns these signals and notices small changes in eating, sleeping or behaviour before illness becomes serious. For stray animals, the lesson is even simpler: observing before acting, providing food and water, and taking injured animals to shelters or vets instead of ignoring them. Had the vet over the hill observed his patient carefully, he too might have discovered the truth. The story reminds us that attention is the first act of care — whether the patient is a person, a pet or a stray.

It begins at sunrise, when the sparrows on my windowsill stop chirping senselessly and start chatting — complaining that the neighbours have stopped putting out grain, and gossiping about the crow who stole a shiny button. In the garden, our dog Rani doesn't just bark; she asks me to check her left paw, and I discover a thorn stuck in it. On the way to school, a street cow tells me she is thirsty because her usual puddle has dried up, and I fill a bucket for her from our building's tap. A squirrel in the schoolyard warns me away from a branch about to fall. The most touching moment comes when an old stray dog by the shop tells me he once had a home, and only needs some kindness now. By evening, my view of the world has turned upside down — the animals around me are not background noise but neighbours with names, troubles and opinions. Like Doctor Dolittle, I realise that understanding brings responsibility: if I can hear them, I cannot ignore them. I go to sleep planning a water bowl and some grain for the mornings — and a visit to the vet with Rani.

On the surface, the story is a comedy of delightful absurdities. A parrot lectures a qualified doctor on his career and commands him to "give the silly people up." A horse walks into a clinic, discusses his failing eyesight like any patient, and demands green spectacles "like yours — only green." The countryside around Puddleby becomes a place where "it became a common sight to see farm animals wearing glasses," and mice queue patiently in a cellar tunnel. These images raise a smile on every page. Yet beneath the fun lies a pointed critique: the horse's bitter complaint that the vet treated him for six weeks with big pills without ever examining his eyes exposes how easily the voiceless are misdiagnosed and neglected. The line "anybody thinks he can doctor animals—just because the animals don't complain" applies to every powerless patient, human or animal. Thus Hugh Lofting uses laughter to teach empathy — he makes animals talk so that we, the readers, will finally listen. The humour is the sugar around a serious pill: every creature deserves to be understood.