Our Rat Pigeon as He Called Her

O nce when I was working in New York City, I noticed some men cleaning the roof of our building using a large cardboard box to put the dry leaves and other garbage. They came down to the basement to dispose of it. I was there and saw a new-born pigeon in the box. I picked her up and when I went home I took her with me. My wife Bertha and I decided to raise it and take care of her.

She began to grow. She flew around the house. We took her to the backyard and there she had all the room to fly but while she remained little, she never flew outside of the backyard. She was getting used to us, as well as our dog, which was very friendly to her. She began to know the neighborhood. I remember when we came back from shopping she was waiting for us and flew on top of the car and stayed there until we got into the garage, then she flew to our yard. She always parked on the porch bannister and waited for me when I returned from work in the evening. I opened the door to enter and she followed me inside the house, like a person. But like always, something had to happen.

There was a fellow about two houses from ours that also had pigeons on the roof of his house. They were messenger pigeons which he was training, and didn't like the idea of having my pigeon flying close to his. We were having our dinner in the dining room when we heard a noise in the living room. We got up and looked out the window and saw our pigeon laying on the porch floor. Someone threw her against the window. We went outside and picked her up. She was very badly hurt. The next day I went to work and when I returned, I found Bertha and my son-in-law John sitting by the dead pigeon, which died while I was at work. Bertha was crying as if someone in the family had just died.

I always felt that the messenger pigeons' owner did it since he always said that he didn’t like to see a rat pigeon flying around his rooftop.

We loved that little pigeon. We enjoyed watching her flying around our house. We have a few pictures of her and miss her as well as the other pets we've had.

Blackie and the Two Rabbits

Bertha and I had six dogs in our lives. Our third dog was a part Labrador whose name was Blackie. We had him for about twelve years while we lived in Jamaica, New York. When we retired and moved to Orlando, Florida, we took him with us to our new house. One day I was in the backyard with him when I noticed that he was digging in the ground. I went to see what he was doing. It was a rabbit nest. I picked one up and there was another one. They must have been about two weeks old and beginning to grow some hair. I took them to the back, in the screened porch of the house, with Blackie following me. I went inside the house and brought a cardboard box and put them in it. Since I didn’t know what they ate, I started giving them some cooked, mashed carrots and water. I kept feeding them and Blackie kept watching them until they started growing. It seems they liked what we were giving them and in a few weeks they were running inside of the house and playing with Blackie. They became good friends but when they got bigger we had to take them to a nearby park where they had all the room to run around. We didn’t see them anymore.

We always liked all kinds of animals, always trying to help them in anyway that we could. Some time ago in Orlando we used to go to the same park where there was a road about one mile. Bertha and I took a morning walk for exercise and got some fresh air.