Chico, the story of a homing pigeon

by Lucy Mansfield Blanchard Blanchard

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 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 amusement.

"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 passed 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-shell 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.