In search of a Dwelling
Mrs. Lightfeather sat on her strawed abode and cried. If you were a winged relative of the pigeon, and unwritten rules of pigeon housebuilding forbade you to look for a dwelling beside those offered by brick-mortar nooks and creves, you would too. Mrs. Lightfeather cried tearlessly, as nature has denied her species of the soggy glands. For, thirteen days it had taken the feathered couple to put together the ramshackle, you may call a nest, and it was nowhere near the title. So, Mrs. Lightfeather who was naturally and greatly aggrieved cooed her agony. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
Having finished her cry, she attended to her wings and preened her feathers to erase all clues of melancholy before Mr. Lightfeather arrived home (?) after the afternoon forage for food. Now, Mr. Lightfeather alias Denver was a dandy thing of a bird, measuring 36 cm from bill to tail, with sleek plumage, the finest of Bluish-Grey seen in turtledoves. On his arrival home, he was greatly hugged and cooed at by Mrs. Lightfeather, also affectionately called Dora, which was all very good.
Only this summer, over the red rooftops had he strutted, wooed Miss Dora Bluefeather, who had most amiably accepted his courting, the cupid struck there, and soon wedding bells chimed in to complete the picture.
Since times immemorial, all living creatures have been wired to an emotion called homeliness, nostalgia seizes us when we’re away from our place of dwelling, we respond to familiar sights and smells efficaciously, shed silly tears over separation and yearn for reunion. We need a home to furnish us with a sense of belonging, security, and togetherness that have an equal calling for human and avian alike.
Now, just as all young couples should, the Lightfeathers’ started their laborious search for a place to raise a brood. This amateur couple though inexperienced had fastidiously outlined their priorities.
Denver had a special dislike for attics that most unfortunately happened to be his place of birth, he hated the damp, rancid, and musty smell of those filthy and neglected parts of households that have raised several generations of winged creatures. And Dora, pacific and gentle as ever agreed to whatever Denver, had in say.
Birds have three natural enemies, namely, cats, children and housemaids with brooms. The feline, Adam decided to call a cat feasted on eggs and chicks, it would twitch its whiskers in villainous delight when it spotted a promising breakfast and stealthily with out giving the zealous parents a chance to save the nestlings (oh! so lovingly raised), would savour it without thought. Children, annoyances own little creations were another nuisance. However concealed the shelter maybe, it would always be discovered and would receive a ceaseless stream of unwanted visitors. Heads with pigtails, and curly mass of hair bobbled up now and then, defying the nest-dwellers’ right to privacy.
Fully informed of the demerits of such traditional habitats, Denver had decided to look for an airy and clean spot, he had esoteric choices as regarding to a habitat, which had earned him cold shouldering in his feathered fraternity. Denver would openly air his views on how dirty and suffocating holes his kinsmen chose to live in, and that a noble lineage cannot be produced in such infested and soiled environs.
Now, that it was upon him to choose a dwelling, he apparently wanted the best, the human world had to offer. No attics will not do for him, tops of room- coolers are a passe, in light of both security and aestheticism, and he wanted something finer and tasteful.
As pigeon memories donot go too far, he was reminded of a nice shady bungalow, surrounded with lush green foliage where the couple had sought shelter a week ago. It had a vacant verandah where hung an inverted tri-ped, limbs of which stuck out at peculiar angles to each other. In innocent play, Dora had strayed near it, and settled on one of the limbs, which had caused the tri-ped to rotate, the effect had quite pleased Denver, and in a sudden whim, he had decided to nest there.
In the pigeon world too, housing authorities exist, every change of address has to be notified and new dwellings are issued licenses and approvals, (and we thought that their cuckoos were utter nuisance!). Denver flew to the Nest Registration Office, where he filled application forms complete with claw-mark in ink, he paid the registration fee in kind (as is the trend in pigeon community), which consisted of Two dead helicopter flies, and 13 seeds. The fat rock-pigeon clerk checked for ‘inverted tri-ped’ under ‘Possible dwellings and Nesting places for Pigeon Family’ list, and swore that he had never heard of that thing. However, Denver bribed him handsomely, that pleased the rock pigeon and he put the ‘inverted tri-ped’ on the ‘Safest dwellings’ list.
The couple then headed for the prospective site, which they found quite peaceful and free of the enemies. There weren’t many pigeons and doves there who Denver found unintelligent and interfering and who Dora secretly missed. Here were crows, sparrows, and several strange birds including some beautiful and large ones, with blue- green plumage and attractive glistening feathers, who haughtily introduced themselves as peacocks. Most of the birds kept to themselves. Dora did miss her friends and relatives who would have visited her and brought her gifts of soft feathers for the chick, had they housed among them.
The crisp September wind had beginning to blow, and brought in its wake rain showers, which interrupted with the progress of the nest. But the hardest task was balancing the twigs, the tri-ped did not hold them long enough. As soon as either of them took flight, in accordance with laws coined by some freak human called Newton, the tri-ped would rotate and the twigs would fall on the floor.
Denver’s inexperience was beginning to show, twigs collected by him came in a queer assortment of sizes and shapes and refused to be fastened together. Some of them were too thin, some too broad, some too long, some curled like little piggy’s tail, consequently poor Dora tried her best to put together a nest that couldn’t have been built, had it not been for her gracious and unruffled presence.
Thus I have narrated to you dear reader, the past and present of the newly wed turtledoves.
Dora was now about to lay an egg, so she kept confined to her shoddy nest, while Denver brought food for her. Sitting thus unoccupied, she sorely missed her own people. How much she had looked forward to laying an egg! How she would sit on it until it hatches, and when it would hatch what a joy! The tiny chick would knock at the shell door, and Dora would help it out. Then she would bring it nice, soft insects to eat, and then when it grows up she would teach it to fly. She had piled on so many hopes and joys on this hatchling.
Suddenly the egg made it’s way to the world. What a beauty it was, so small and white. But, oh! But, oh! Before Dora could admire it, it began to roll, tiny twigs, so lovingly knit could not prevent it from rolling. It happened so suddenly, so briefly, so quickly, the egg rolled over to the edge of the limb and down it went…….a small ‘plotch’ was all the sound it made when it hit the ground and broke!!!
Dora flew down to it, what could have grown into a lovely chick; there lay a mess of white and yellow mass oozing out of the calcareous envelope.
Just then, Denver arrived,
‘Oh! Dan, oh…it just rolled over….. Our egg…the nest didn’t hold it back…oh!!! Dan…. AwAwAwaaaaa…..’And away she cried. Denver looked up at the erring nest and just stood there. Stood there foolishly, wearing a peculiar expression that Dora could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor horror, nor pain not any of the expressions, that is expected of a woeful father. He just stood looking like a dumb schoolboy working hard at his sums. He had never seen his dwelling standing directly below it. Suddenly, he turned to Dora and said ‘Darling, did you ever realize, that we were trying to build a nest over a ceiling fan?’
P.S. Six months after the above mentioned tragedy if you ever happen to visit the Nest Registration Office, and offer the Rock Pigeon clerk 2 tender caterpillars, he’ll let you have a look at his ‘Record of Pigeon Families of the Area’ book. Under names from L are listed:
Denver Lightfeather, Dora Lightfeather & Junior Lightfeather
Address: The Attic
Turtledoves Colony
Red Building of Bricks
Mrs. Lightfeather sat on her strawed abode and cried. If you were a winged relative of the pigeon, and unwritten rules of pigeon housebuilding forbade you to look for a dwelling beside those offered by brick-mortar nooks and creves, you would too. Mrs. Lightfeather cried tearlessly, as nature has denied her species of the soggy glands. For, thirteen days it had taken the feathered couple to put together the ramshackle, you may call a nest, and it was nowhere near the title. So, Mrs. Lightfeather who was naturally and greatly aggrieved cooed her agony. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
Having finished her cry, she attended to her wings and preened her feathers to erase all clues of melancholy before Mr. Lightfeather arrived home (?) after the afternoon forage for food. Now, Mr. Lightfeather alias Denver was a dandy thing of a bird, measuring 36 cm from bill to tail, with sleek plumage, the finest of Bluish-Grey seen in turtledoves. On his arrival home, he was greatly hugged and cooed at by Mrs. Lightfeather, also affectionately called Dora, which was all very good.
Only this summer, over the red rooftops had he strutted, wooed Miss Dora Bluefeather, who had most amiably accepted his courting, the cupid struck there, and soon wedding bells chimed in to complete the picture.
Since times immemorial, all living creatures have been wired to an emotion called homeliness, nostalgia seizes us when we’re away from our place of dwelling, we respond to familiar sights and smells efficaciously, shed silly tears over separation and yearn for reunion. We need a home to furnish us with a sense of belonging, security, and togetherness that have an equal calling for human and avian alike.
Now, just as all young couples should, the Lightfeathers’ started their laborious search for a place to raise a brood. This amateur couple though inexperienced had fastidiously outlined their priorities.
Denver had a special dislike for attics that most unfortunately happened to be his place of birth, he hated the damp, rancid, and musty smell of those filthy and neglected parts of households that have raised several generations of winged creatures. And Dora, pacific and gentle as ever agreed to whatever Denver, had in say.
Birds have three natural enemies, namely, cats, children and housemaids with brooms. The feline, Adam decided to call a cat feasted on eggs and chicks, it would twitch its whiskers in villainous delight when it spotted a promising breakfast and stealthily with out giving the zealous parents a chance to save the nestlings (oh! so lovingly raised), would savour it without thought. Children, annoyances own little creations were another nuisance. However concealed the shelter maybe, it would always be discovered and would receive a ceaseless stream of unwanted visitors. Heads with pigtails, and curly mass of hair bobbled up now and then, defying the nest-dwellers’ right to privacy.
Fully informed of the demerits of such traditional habitats, Denver had decided to look for an airy and clean spot, he had esoteric choices as regarding to a habitat, which had earned him cold shouldering in his feathered fraternity. Denver would openly air his views on how dirty and suffocating holes his kinsmen chose to live in, and that a noble lineage cannot be produced in such infested and soiled environs.
Now, that it was upon him to choose a dwelling, he apparently wanted the best, the human world had to offer. No attics will not do for him, tops of room- coolers are a passe, in light of both security and aestheticism, and he wanted something finer and tasteful.
As pigeon memories donot go too far, he was reminded of a nice shady bungalow, surrounded with lush green foliage where the couple had sought shelter a week ago. It had a vacant verandah where hung an inverted tri-ped, limbs of which stuck out at peculiar angles to each other. In innocent play, Dora had strayed near it, and settled on one of the limbs, which had caused the tri-ped to rotate, the effect had quite pleased Denver, and in a sudden whim, he had decided to nest there.
In the pigeon world too, housing authorities exist, every change of address has to be notified and new dwellings are issued licenses and approvals, (and we thought that their cuckoos were utter nuisance!). Denver flew to the Nest Registration Office, where he filled application forms complete with claw-mark in ink, he paid the registration fee in kind (as is the trend in pigeon community), which consisted of Two dead helicopter flies, and 13 seeds. The fat rock-pigeon clerk checked for ‘inverted tri-ped’ under ‘Possible dwellings and Nesting places for Pigeon Family’ list, and swore that he had never heard of that thing. However, Denver bribed him handsomely, that pleased the rock pigeon and he put the ‘inverted tri-ped’ on the ‘Safest dwellings’ list.
The couple then headed for the prospective site, which they found quite peaceful and free of the enemies. There weren’t many pigeons and doves there who Denver found unintelligent and interfering and who Dora secretly missed. Here were crows, sparrows, and several strange birds including some beautiful and large ones, with blue- green plumage and attractive glistening feathers, who haughtily introduced themselves as peacocks. Most of the birds kept to themselves. Dora did miss her friends and relatives who would have visited her and brought her gifts of soft feathers for the chick, had they housed among them.
The crisp September wind had beginning to blow, and brought in its wake rain showers, which interrupted with the progress of the nest. But the hardest task was balancing the twigs, the tri-ped did not hold them long enough. As soon as either of them took flight, in accordance with laws coined by some freak human called Newton, the tri-ped would rotate and the twigs would fall on the floor.
Denver’s inexperience was beginning to show, twigs collected by him came in a queer assortment of sizes and shapes and refused to be fastened together. Some of them were too thin, some too broad, some too long, some curled like little piggy’s tail, consequently poor Dora tried her best to put together a nest that couldn’t have been built, had it not been for her gracious and unruffled presence.
Thus I have narrated to you dear reader, the past and present of the newly wed turtledoves.
Dora was now about to lay an egg, so she kept confined to her shoddy nest, while Denver brought food for her. Sitting thus unoccupied, she sorely missed her own people. How much she had looked forward to laying an egg! How she would sit on it until it hatches, and when it would hatch what a joy! The tiny chick would knock at the shell door, and Dora would help it out. Then she would bring it nice, soft insects to eat, and then when it grows up she would teach it to fly. She had piled on so many hopes and joys on this hatchling.
Suddenly the egg made it’s way to the world. What a beauty it was, so small and white. But, oh! But, oh! Before Dora could admire it, it began to roll, tiny twigs, so lovingly knit could not prevent it from rolling. It happened so suddenly, so briefly, so quickly, the egg rolled over to the edge of the limb and down it went…….a small ‘plotch’ was all the sound it made when it hit the ground and broke!!!
Dora flew down to it, what could have grown into a lovely chick; there lay a mess of white and yellow mass oozing out of the calcareous envelope.
Just then, Denver arrived,
‘Oh! Dan, oh…it just rolled over….. Our egg…the nest didn’t hold it back…oh!!! Dan…. AwAwAwaaaaa…..’And away she cried. Denver looked up at the erring nest and just stood there. Stood there foolishly, wearing a peculiar expression that Dora could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor horror, nor pain not any of the expressions, that is expected of a woeful father. He just stood looking like a dumb schoolboy working hard at his sums. He had never seen his dwelling standing directly below it. Suddenly, he turned to Dora and said ‘Darling, did you ever realize, that we were trying to build a nest over a ceiling fan?’
P.S. Six months after the above mentioned tragedy if you ever happen to visit the Nest Registration Office, and offer the Rock Pigeon clerk 2 tender caterpillars, he’ll let you have a look at his ‘Record of Pigeon Families of the Area’ book. Under names from L are listed:
Denver Lightfeather, Dora Lightfeather & Junior Lightfeather
Address: The Attic
Turtledoves Colony
Red Building of Bricks
