Pigeons

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y,” I shouted, “there’s a big man stealing my pigeons!”“How big is he?” Daddy asked.“Really big!” I shouted.“Well if he’s really big I should probably leave him alone,” Daddy answered. “He might beat me up.”I was crushed. My daddy, my hero, the man I looked up to more than anyone else in the world, was scared to stop another man from stealing my beloved birds. It even seemed as if he hadn’t taken me seriously. I ran to the kitchen window, watched the thief walking up the street, and quietly cried before returning to my room to cry until Momma called me for breakfast.Unknown to me at the time, Daddy knew the man was picking up my winged wonders, and had explained to Daddy how he managed to catch wild pigeons. Also unknown to me was that the boy who had sold me the birds had stolen the birds from the big man I later came to know as Tim.I guess it was a couple of weeks later when Daddy loaded a long ladder on top of the car, and drove me to our local Sears store in the middle of the night. He had with him a flashlight and a pillowcase for reasons I couldn’t understand until we climbed the ladder to the roof of the store only to discover hundreds of pigeons sleeping on the roof. “Be careful not to step on them,” Daddy warned me.While Daddy looked for younger birds that would be more easily trained not to fly away I saw a City of Greensboro Police car pull into the parking lot and shine his spotlight at us. Daddy waved at the officer, I waved at the officer, and the officer waved back before driving away. When we got home Daddy placed two young birds in

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the cage, and sent me to bed saying, “They’ll still be here in the morning.”I was overjoyed. They were easy to care for, cost nothing to feed as they would eat anything I gave to them, and in a few short months they were flying all over the neighborhood before returning to their cage, or landing on my fingers. They spent most of their time pecking at things on the ground right there in the yard, or lighting in the oak trees that once covered most of the yard. Anytime I went outside they came flying to me hoping to get a treat, and while my dog Tramp didn’t seem to care much for them he never bothered them.One weekend when we were away I left them locked in their cage with lots of food and water. Despite the fact it was raining cats and dogs with a bit of hale mixed in, when we got home I immediately rushed to check on my fine feathered friends only to discover some animal, or perhaps the winds, had torn up the cage and my pigeons were nowhere to be found.Knowing Tramp might also need attention I ran across the yard where Tramp was sitting in the door of his doghouse. Behind him were two slightly wet, but healthy birds preening themselves as if they had just taken a dip in a bird bath.One summer day I went out to mow the yard. After winding it up I released the switch on the wind up starter on the Briggs & Stratton powered mower only to witness feathers, blood, meat, and bones flying out from under the lawnmower.At least they died quick deaths.Continue reading<a href="https://readmedium.com/my-first-car-94f96e8b4e92"> My First Car.</a></article></body>

Another story from the Daze of my Youth and the tree rats flying overhead.

I don’t remember how much I paid the boy up the street for the two adult pigeons but being I was still in grade school and got an allowance of only .05 cents per week you can be sure it wasn’t much.

As their wings had recently been clipped they were unable to fly away so I turned them lose in our fenced in back yard, and set out to build a cage that would keep them safe and dry when I wasn’t there to watch over them.

I had planned to keep them in the house, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it, so after pounding a few boards together and finding an old wire grill I managed to make them secure.

A few days later I was awaken early in the morning by the sound of my dog barking, and someone undoing the latch on the gate to our backyard. I looked out to see what was to me a very big man walk to the cage, grab my pigeons, and walk back out the gate.

Thinking my pigeons had just been stolen I ran to the kitchen where Daddy was seated, still in his pajamas, and enjoying his first cup of coffee. “Daddy,” I shouted, “there’s a big man stealing my pigeons!”

“How big is he?” Daddy asked.

“Really big!” I shouted.

“Well if he’s really big I should probably leave him alone,” Daddy answered. “He might beat me up.”

I was crushed. My daddy, my hero, the man I looked up to more than anyone else in the world, was scared to stop another man from stealing my beloved birds. It even seemed as if he hadn’t taken me seriously. I ran to the kitchen window, watched the thief walking up the street, and quietly cried before returning to my room to cry until Momma called me for breakfast.

Unknown to me at the time, Daddy knew the man was picking up my winged wonders, and had explained to Daddy how he managed to catch wild pigeons. Also unknown to me was that the boy who had sold me the birds had stolen the birds from the big man I later came to know as Tim.

I guess it was a couple of weeks later when Daddy loaded a long ladder on top of the car, and drove me to our local Sears store in the middle of the night. He had with him a flashlight and a pillowcase for reasons I couldn’t understand until we climbed the ladder to the roof of the store only to discover hundreds of pigeons sleeping on the roof. “Be careful not to step on them,” Daddy warned me.

While Daddy looked for younger birds that would be more easily trained not to fly away I saw a City of Greensboro Police car pull into the parking lot and shine his spotlight at us. Daddy waved at the officer, I waved at the officer, and the officer waved back before driving away. When we got home Daddy placed two young birds in the cage, and sent me to bed saying, “They’ll still be here in the morning.”

I was overjoyed. They were easy to care for, cost nothing to feed as they would eat anything I gave to them, and in a few short months they were flying all over the neighborhood before returning to their cage, or landing on my fingers. They spent most of their time pecking at things on the ground right there in the yard, or lighting in the oak trees that once covered most of the yard. Anytime I went outside they came flying to me hoping to get a treat, and while my dog Tramp didn’t seem to care much for them he never bothered them.

One weekend when we were away I left them locked in their cage with lots of food and water. Despite the fact it was raining cats and dogs with a bit of hale mixed in, when we got home I immediately rushed to check on my fine feathered friends only to discover some animal, or perhaps the winds, had torn up the cage and my pigeons were nowhere to be found.

Knowing Tramp might also need attention I ran across the yard where Tramp was sitting in the door of his doghouse. Behind him were two slightly wet, but healthy birds preening themselves as if they had just taken a dip in a bird bath.

One summer day I went out to mow the yard. After winding it up I released the switch on the wind up starter on the Briggs & Stratton powered mower only to witness feathers, blood, meat, and bones flying out from under the lawnmower.

At least they died quick deaths.