Chico: the Story of a Homing Pigeon | Page 9

wouldn't have been so bad if his father had been as affectionate as usual, but, on the contrary, he had treated his sister and himself as if they were in the way, and it was easy to see Father Pigeon would have greatly preferred crowding on the nest with his mate to getting food for two greedy fledglings.
In fact, that was how the accident had happened. Chico had been so unfortunate as to get in the way, with the result that he had been pushed out and had fallen to the ground.
Poor little naked fledgling, he had shivered and huddled close to the friendly column, for, even in summer, the breeze from the Adriatic often blows fresh and cool.
He had just begun to wonder how he should get anything to eat, when suddenly a shadow had come over him, causing him to crouch low in even, greater terror, while his heart thumped horribly, but before he could utter a sound he had been seized by a big warm hand, and a voice that was not unkindly had exclaimed:
"Did the little pigeon fall from the nest?"
In the warm comfort of Paolo's hand the bird had forgotten his fear, and his little heart had ceased to thump as he reflected this must be a human, and his mother had always taught him that "humans" were kind to birds in St. Mark's Square. So, with a feeling akin to confidence, he had allowed himself to be carried somewhere he did not know, and deposited In what he supposed was meant for a nest, although it was not bit like the nice, soft one to which he had accustomed.
He had even managed to eat a crumb or two, and, in spite of the fact that he was very lonely without his sister to keep him company, he had finally succeeded in going to sleep.
In the morning the big hand had grasped him again and had shown him to two long-legged creatures who he had guessed were human children, because they looked much as his mother had described them in one of her favorite lullaby coos. He had not been afraid of them, but, flattered by their delighted exclamations, had eaten everything they had offered him.
By the time the second night had come, Chico had so far become accustomed to his strange surroundings that he slept almost as well as if he had been under his mother's wings.
He was still dreaming when he heard a voice call, "Chico, Chico--are you still there, Chico?"
He roused instantly, reminded of his friends who had given him his breakfast the morning before.
He raised his head. There was a sound of other little feet climbing upon the dry-goods box, and a softer voice called, "Chico, Chico!"
Still he made no movement, listening while the children speculated as to whether or not their pet had been spirited away during the night.
"Chico! Chico!" There was something so pleading in the boy's voice that the baby pigeon thrust his open bill out of the window on the ledge.
"He's here, he's here!" Andrea shouted, almost losing his balance in his excitement, but he saved himself in time to put a bit of cracked wheat into the wide-open mouth. It was greedily swallowed and the open bill demanded more. This performance was repeated until the boy's supply was exhausted. Then the bill was withdrawn, and Chico disappeared from view. But between the boy and the bird had been established a bond that would never be broken. From that time on, Chico was his pigeon in every sense of the word, and, at Andrea's first call, the greedy bill would immediately appear.
So it went on, until one bright morning, when the children turned the corner of the church, they found Chico, perched on the window ledge, faking a sun-bath and waiting for his friends.
My! what excitement there was! Andrea could scarcely wait to climb up on the box, and was delighted when Chico cocked his head on one side and actually permitted his caresses.
"Bambino!" murmured Maria; "dear little baby bird. Oh, see! he's actually getting feathers!"
It was true, the soft down with which he was covered in some places was beginning to give way to the first pin feathers, his bill did not seem so awkwardly large, and the soft, shapeless body already showed signs of developing future grace.
After this Chico was always waiting for the children, and would cock his head on one side when he saw them coming, uttering little squeaky noises that did not sound in the least like cooing. All the time his feathers were growing and his wings becoming stronger.
Then came a day when Paolo declared that Chico must have his first lesson in flying, and the children watched, with abated breath, as the old man took the bird from his nest