Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Pigeon In The Backpack
It was just another typical ending to a day in the life of a third grader in elementary school. I ran out the door with this large smirk on my face. I felt happy that I was as far away from my third grade teacher as possible. We all have that one teacher that worked on our nerves. I had three of them. One in third grade. Second in tenth grade. Third from eleventh to twelve.
I was walking to the side of the school with a friend of mine. We have our regular chit chats before he gets picked up by his parents and I get picked up by my van driver. We made it to the corner and stumbled upon this pigeon just coming onto the sidewalk after being on the street for seemingly quite a while.
The pigeon had one foot and it's wings were broken. I could tell because it was hard for it to flap it's wings. Without it's wings, the pigeon was vulnerable and helpless.
"Poor thing," I said to my friend. "If only I could take it home with me."
My elementary school friend really took that seriously and picked up the pigeon.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"You said that you couldn't bring it home with you," he said. "Well I can. So I'm taking it home with me."
Without a second thought, my friend jammed the pigeon in between his school books and closed the bag behind him. My guess was that the pigeon died within minutes of being in that bag. There is no way a pigeon could survive after being jammed in like that.
Within seconds, his parents arrived and he went home. I didn't say a word to them. I was just going to let his backpack do the talking.