Friday Fables

The Fable of the Pigeonby Barry J. Northern A young pigeon, not long out of the nest, squabbled among his fellows around the legs of one of the wingless giants who sat upon the strange wooden bush at this time every day.His father stayed close to him. “Look Fletch, this here giant is dropping bits of giant food already, good as grain that stuff. Oh, he'll fling us his scraps at the end, but you wanna watch out for anything you can get.” His father laughed at the older pigeons at the front of the crowd, fighting for scraps. “Look at em go. That's the way!”“But, Dad?”“Yes, my son?”“Can't I just have grain mash? You've still got crop milk. I like it with a bit of crop milk.”“Look son, I told you already, you're off the milk now. It'll dry up soon anyhow.”“What about Mum?”“She's got your brother to worry about. Look, you're not a squab any more.” His beady red eye darted ahead of a sharp-turned neck. “Look out! He's dropping scraps! Go on, get in there my son.”Fletch, wanting to impress his father, pushed his way