The Little Things That Change Our Lives
I recently received an email from one of my blog readers (thank you so much Ingrid Taylor!) that has caused me to pause for some serious reflection. Ingrid had noticed in one of my posts my mention of the fact that I had raised pigeons as a youngster in southern California. She loves pigeons and when she and her husband rescued and fostered two homing pigeons, “Chauncey and Clive”, they became deeply attached to them. In her email Ingrid asked me if I “retain any similar affections for pigeons” left over from my childhood. Do I ever! When I think back on just how much those few years with my pigeons changed my life for the better I’m simply astounded. When I was in 6th grade and living in Poway, California my friend Dennis (on the right in the photo, that’s me on the left) introduced me to the joys of raising pigeons. We each kept a variety of breeds – homers, tumblers, rollers, fantails, tippets, helmets and others. This is the pigeon coop that I built from scrap lumber and chicken wire at age 11 in 1959. I spent countless hours in that coop with my pigeons – caring for them, watching their behaviors and reading and then re-reading the huge book you see in my hand – “The Pigeon”, by Wendell Mitchell Levi. My parents supported and nurtured my obsession with my birds, largely for a reason I found out years later – that it “kept me out of trouble”. And they were probably right……