Pigeons: Part I

I was out in the back earlier today, looking around and trying to decide if I want to build a pigeon coop, or not. With falcons and hawks continually flying over head it's risky business. Risky for the pigeons not me.

I raised pigeons when I was young. For a season of my youth, they were my life and my greatest joy. I loved them the way I loved my dogs. My father also raised pigeons when he was a young boy.He was equally passionate.

For the last forty-five years or so, I have had a variation of the same recurring dream.

In my dream I suddenly realize that it has been years since I have seen, fed or watered my birds. In a sense of panic and guilt I rush to my mother's home in Pico Rivera and head straight to the back to find all my pigeons faithfully waiting for me.

The pigeon coop is dilapidated and overrun with weeds and branches from the nearby trees. The water bowls and feeding troughs are empty and dry. The entire yard has changed and there is an eeriness about it.

All the pigeons that I had over the years are there and I can see in their eyes that they were wondering what happened and waiting for me.

I reach for a sack of feed that somehow is always there. I fill the trough and the water bowls.

Somehow the birds survived the years but there is always something that has changed. Something that I cannot put my finger on. Maybe it's the same feeling I get when I dream that my father has returned. The feeling that it can't be real.

I try to analyze the dream but my best guess is that even after all these years I still miss them.