Chico: the Story of a Homing Pigeon Part 4

"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Then the bill was withdrawn, and Chico disappeared from view.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 c.o.c.ked 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 c.o.c.k 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 and placed him on the pavement, at the same time stationing himself at a little distance and holding an enticing morsel. At first the baby pigeon flopped aimlessly about when, suddenly, Maria caught Andrea's arm, whispering excitedly, "He's going to do it, oh, he's going to do it!" and, miracle of miracles! after awkwardly raising one wing and then another, he actually mastered the first lesson and, in consequence, was treated to a royal breakfast. It was a great exertion, and, after satisfying his hunger, he then and there closed his weary eyes and took a nap on the pavement, much to Paolo's amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Well," he exclaimed, "it's the first time I ever taught a bird to fly. One never knows what one can do until one tries."

After that not a day pa.s.sed that Chico did not make short flights, to Andrea from Maria, and from her to the old man's shoulder, until, one morning, he greatly amazed them by flying into his own window box.

Gaining confidence, Chico must have had it in his pigeon mind one morning to fly from his nest and greet his friends upon the pavement. But alas, he miscalculated his strength, even as human beings often do, and while he spread his wings most boldly, he lost his balance and fell ignominiously to the ground. That would not of itself have been so bad, for, like children learning to walk, baby pigeons must have many a disaster before the art of flying is completely mastered, but, by some strange chance, it happened that a lean tortoise-sh.e.l.l kitten was prowling about one of the side streets and at that moment poked her head into St. Mark's Square. Now, in Venice, there are very few cats--in fact, because of the esteem in which pigeons are held, they are not popular pets. More than that, they are positively prohibited from St. Mark's Square, as any well-trained feline should know.

Where this cat came from, and to whom she belonged, ever remained a mystery, but as she curiously poked her head into the forbidden precinct she caught sight of Chico, lying stunned and helpless from his fall. Here was her chance. Straightway flinging caution to the winds, with a quick spring she landed full upon the trembling bird, at the same time seizing him with her paws and burying her cruel teeth in his tender flesh.

What would have been the result I shudder to reflect, had not Andrea at that moment appeared upon the scene. With a scream of terror he rushed forward, clapping his hands and making such an outcry that the kitten, frightened, dropped her prey and disappeared down the side street from which she had ventured.

When Paolo arrived on the scene a few moments later he found Andrea, well-nigh distracted, hugging his wounded pet to his breast, and whispering over and over again:

"Chico, Chico, you mustn't die--you mustn't die!"

It took Paolo but a few moments to a.s.sure himself that Chico was not seriously hurt, although he bore the scar made by the cruel claws for many a day, and it was weeks before he dared again to try the flight from his nest to the pavement.

As for the cat, although the old caretaker sallied forth vowing vengeance, she was never again seen.

Soon it was time for the children to go to school in the old building situated some distance from St. Mark's, not far from the Rialto.

There was now only time in the morning for a brief visit with Chico before lessons began, and a hurried half-hour with him at luncheon. Hence the moments after four o'clock and the full holiday on Sat.u.r.day were most precious, and on those occasions no one was happier than Chico, flying from one to another, and usually ending by perching coquettishly on Andrea's shoulder.

"There isn't a pigeon in Venice to compare with him," remarked Andrea, lovingly touching the daintily arched bill, and looking into the clear eyes. "Tell me, Paolo, did you ever see so fine a bird?"

In answer the old man thoughtfully stretched out the well-shaped wings, saying, as the colors shone iridescent green and blue in the suns.h.i.+ne: "They're as beautiful as any wings I ever saw, and better than that, they're strong. Wings like that can carry a pigeon any distance. Yes," he continued, more to himself than to the children, "if he's to be a homer, it seems to me it's full time to begin his training."

Andrea started in an ecstasy of delight.

"Do you mean it, Paolo? Do you really mean it?"

The old man nodded. "Yes, and if you have no objections, we'll give him the first lesson next Sat.u.r.day morning."

As if surmising that he was the subject of discussion, Chico flew back to Andrea's shoulder, where he coo-ooed blissfully, while Paolo unfolded to his eager listeners the details as he had planned them.

CHAPTER VI

TRAINING

As a first step he had secured a wicker basket with a close-fitting cover which roused the liveliest curiosity and caused Andrea to ask, doubtfully:

"What has a basket to do with teaching a pigeon?"

"Just about everything," the old man wisely replied. "By carrying the bird in a dark basket to the place from which he is to make his flight, he will have no way of acquainting himself with the direction in which he traveled, and, when released, must depend entirely upon his homing instinct."

"Chico won't like being shut up in a dark prison," interrupted Maria, stretching up to caress the glossy neck; "it's like being blindfolded."

"Perhaps not," was the rejoinder, "but if he is going to be trained to be a faithful homer, he will have to spend a good deal of time in the same dark prison. It's part of the discipline of his life." As he finished, he began tracing figures on the pavement, and the children, wondering still more, watched him, fascinated.

"There's no doubt," he mused, more to himself than to his listeners, "but that he could find his way from such near-by points as the Ducal Palace and the Bridge of Sighs--I'm disposed to take him farther away for his first trial--say to the Rialto."

"Bene! bene!" [Footnote: Good! good!] shouted Andrea, clapping his hands.

"Then," continued the old man, without paying any attention to the interruption, "if he does well from such distances as that, we'll gradually take him farther away--perhaps to the Lido and--"

"To the Lido," repeated Andrea, to whom this seemed a great distance. "Do you think he could find his way from there?"

"Without the least difficulty," was the answer, "and within a few weeks, unless I miss my guess; after a while we'll have to arrange to try him from other parts of Italy--Milan, for instance."

"Milan! Other parts of Italy!" The children found it hard to fancy cooing little Chico finding his way home from distant cities, and in spite of himself, Andrea's eyes filled with tears, as he faltered, "I--wouldn't--want--him to get--lost!"