As green as grass

the sueltas from Spain

When I came home from school one tropical afternoon I discovered a green pigeon. It was quietly sitting on my very own loft. I was flabbergasted and couldn’t believe my eyes. For a single moment I was of the world. No doubt it was the heat for generally I don’t see lions on my way. The pigeon was poison green. It was about to enter the young pigeons house when I learned from its blue ring that it had to be one of my own birds. It was the 53.

In the fall of ’93 I gave her to Peter, a friendly pigeon fancier. I looked for further details in my computer. Peter was crazy about black and snow white pigeons; consequently his nickname had to be White Peter. However after a while Peter moved to another part of the town and he sold his black and white friends to what you might call an unknown  pigeon buyer-up.

I went to my neighbour who was mowing his grass and showed him my green miracle.

‘Where did you find that he asked. Such birds should be in Disneyland or belong to some fun-fair.’ ‘It’s one of my own’, I said, ’ last year I sold her to Peter.’

’I bet you’ve painted her all by yourself’, he laughed and returned to his lawnmower. I took my 53 to a little pigeon apartment for stray birds in my garage for she didn’t seem to be quite healthy.

Then I phoned John, the chairman of our pigeon club. ‘John’, I  said, ’I’ve got a green pigeon.’

‘Of course old chap, I understand, It’s rather hot today . You’ve lost your head. The children at school must have been a nuisance. You are referring to the green badge, I suppose. Keep your heart; the summer holidays are near at hand.’

‘No, no, I am serious, John boy, it’s a white pigeon that someone  painted green. Sometimes you meet with these coloured painted birds as an attraction in a fun fair or a children’s zoo.’

And John as leader of the pigeons society started to behave as a leader suits. He was wondering which idiot could have been responsible for the green affair. ‘Maybe it’s someone who likes to play  practical jokes,’ he said and he promised to start an investigation,

After our phone call in a twinkling of an eye me and my pigeon bird became the talk of the town. The reactions were different. ‘How could anyone possibly remove that paint’, somebody worried. ‘With white spirit,’ Anthony proposed. He is the eldest club member, so he ought to know better.

 ‘You’re mad, ’I grumbled,’ after moulting time my pigeon will be white again. She already threw  three flights.’

‘You could send her on the next race from France,’ suggested Bill Bully. He was often nagging and teasing his fellow pigeon people.

Of course his proposition was not real because we were racing from Creil on Saturday  and that was more than 230 miles  and the green one wasn’t properly trained and prepared. It had already been quite a performance for a tainted bird like her to fly safely home from wherever it came from.

The pigeon owners of Northern Holland had been flying from Kaatsheuvel last weekend and in that region their must be a fun-fair somewhere.

My next-door neighbour and former pigeon keeper, the one with the noisy lawnmower wanted to know if my other pigeons were not afraid of their new green loft mate. ‘Jacob ‘, I said they don’t even notice her outfit, they don’t see colours at all I think.’ And then we were arguing for quite a while whether birds could see colours.

Now  already during a few weeks the 53 has joined my flight of pigeons and the children from next door are shouting:’ See, there is flying a green one amongst these pigeons.

In between I’ve given my prodigious pigeon daughter a cock pigeon  to mate. It was love at first sight and the first egg, I can assure you, definitely wasn’t green at all.

© Cor Uitham 
nederlandse versie http://duivenpad.blogspot.nl/2011/10/zo-groen-als-gras.html       

The Sueltas in Spain are painted for  a different reason. One might think that the jolly coat was applied to frighten birds of prey, but that's not the case. In Spain they organize a  special game with these Pica- pigeons. The paint is quite harmless

Important Visitors!

It was a Sunday afternoon. I was busy on the toilet. Pigeon fanciers indeed are in many respects quite normal people. The passed week had been boring. 

As I was the treasurer, the moneyman of our pigeon club it had once again been my task to write the annual financial review. That turned out to be a disaster  for  some small amount of money ended up on the wrong spot in my cashier book and caused  a chain reaction of stupid mistakes. 

I phoned the chairman of my pigeon club and accused him from having been joggling with a couple of euros. I  grumbled ‘You will have to replace me; just find yourself a new bookkeeper .’ But he wasn’t in any way impressed by my complaint. So I ended the conversation.

To make matters worse one evening my cocks were out of the blue afraid of landing on their loft in the October twilight. They kept fluttering and hovering around the house for hours it rather seemed and finally flopped down upon the roof tiles like sandbags. 

Stupid birds! Sometimes travelling on a long distance race they keep carelessly flying into the growing darkness and when they arrive home somewhere in the middle of the night they run into their pigeon house without any fear. 

On all these things I was meditating at ease while spending time on the lavatory.

The doorbell rang. I heard boys voices. No doubt they were collecting old newspapers. They had to wait. First of all I liked to finish my reverie.
I glanced at the picture of a snowy owl on the calendar. A New years present  that the Pigeon magazine every year sends  to its contributors; a calendar with all kinds of birds and animals.
Swans taking off A  couple of wolves in February, a seagull in April and for instance a lion in August.  
From a pigeon paper one would expect something with flying and breeding pigeons.       

 Outside I heard one of the boys say: ‘He must be a nice man,’  he usually  is at home, wait and see. He’ll give me what I want.’ 

I pressed the water button in the toilet,  widely opened the front door and  roared:’  and  okay, and what is it  you think you’ll get from me?’

‘Pigeons, sir,’ replied the smallest of the two boys. ‘I’ve got pigeons, two cocks, sir, and they fight a lot because their women pigeons have flown away, they left the loft.’

‘ Jess’, I returned’ Women  are inclined do so; it’s common knowledge, and for your information a female pigeon is referred to with the word hen.’ 

He looked at me uncertain. His sturdy little friend stood a few steps behind him like a silent bodyguard.

‘And  you may call a male pigeon is a cock’. 

He gave his companion an understanding nod as if meant; ’see. I told you he’s nice pigioner. 

‘So, now you are in need for a few hens,’ I went on saying, that’s all right but then you’ll have to be back next Saturday, because at this moment I can’t at random pick out two suitable pigeons.’ 

Satisfied he nodded and again glanced  at his friend.

‘ I am  curious which pigeon owner gave you the two cocks’, I said A certain Mr Han  had generously given them. He also was a nice person and the pigeons  were red coloured. ’Maybe their hens didn’t like that colour,’ his square-built friend thoughtfully suggested.

They left politely bowing like Japanese people who had just invested a lot of money in  my famous pigeons.

 I closed the door. In the living room I examined my  bank-book for the hundredth time and suddenly the money mislaid showed up on the proper spot. The rest of the week went by without disturbing events. My cocks had become wiser. 

They returned to their loft before dark. Towards the end of the week an English red hen that lost its bearings  and had come all the way from Scotland asked shelter. 

On Saturday as was agreed  the little boy and his mate came punctual to the minute with a carton box from the supermarket. I gave them 3 hens and a white cock. The tall boy  pointed at the English red bird and asked if they could take the yellow one with them  as well. But I refused and I explained that she had to fly back to England eventually after recovery. 

With four pigeons in an inconvenient box in which I had pricked holes for ventilation with scissors  they finally left in high spirits on their bikes.  I had made their day.


(dit is een Engelse versie van het verhaal\ Hoog Bezoek' dat  enkele dagen geleden op dit weblog werd geplaatst)
 zwanen-foto R.U.