Dad’ s Pigeons

A shared memory from Iris Potter one of our Shed Writers.  Iris took part in our creative writing classes before joining the Shed Writers.

From a young age I can always remember my Dad's pigeons. He had an excellent Doo Hut that he built himself with wood which he carried on his shoulders all the way up from the town to Moray Road. Once built he spent a lot of time in there looking after them all.

He mostly specialised in big Doos but he did allow stray feral pigeons to use the hut as a squat as he couldn't bear to see them homeless. He also had fantails on occasion although he was not that keen on them. That only happened because he didn't want to see them abandoned.

He looked after his Doos so well that no matter how many times he sold or swapped them they would always come back. It was an unwritten rule that even if you sold them and they came back you got to keep both, the money and the pigeon. Most of the time though, my Dad felt sorry for the younger lads and he would give them their money back.

My Dad had a great bond with his Doos and lots of times he would bring them into the house. My Mum was not pleased with that arrangement at all. You can imagine the mess they would've made. Feathers and bird shit everywhere. Sitting on top of the pelmets ruining the lovely curtains. If my Mum complained, Dad would get a blanket and go out and sleep in the hut with them.

I can recall, and it still makes me laugh, going out to check on him to see if he was okay and he would be snoring away with a pigeon perched on his head, one on his chest and one on each leg. Feathers on his nose and every time he snored they would fly up and down. I just wish video cameras were so freely available back then. 

Dad would stumble back indoors around 4am chittering with the blanket wrapped around him covered in feathers and doo shit which filled my Mum with rage.

Just as well she had the patience of a saint, and she loved him unconditionally.