The sky was grey, and the world looked soft and fuzzy through the early morning mist when I opened the shutters this morning. As we sat in bed enjoying our first coffee of the day, a flock of homing pigeons came into view and circled for a while. I can’t remember when I last saw that. While watching them I was reminded of an incident long, long ago…
On the plot in Bronkhorstspruit my then husband’s hobby was homing pigeons. It is a rather intensive and time-consuming hobby. Careful nurturing and training of the birds is required. Taking them out on a daily basis and monitoring their flight times and accuracy of landing back on the nest. Weekend rallies and races, for the club, and against other clubs. Over time the handler builds a relationship with individual birds. Each one is recognised and treated according to their own characteristics. Breeding, feeding and medication is a carefully calculated affair. I can go on, but the finer details are not important.
The pigeon loft was built a short distance away from the back door of the house, behind a large black wattle tree. Beneath the tree, one of the guard dogs was kept on a ‘running’ chain during the night, a method that was used as an early warning system in the days before modern security systems.
The tree had reached its peak growth and was showing signs of becoming top-heavy. After an electric storm it eventually split and fell over. Thankfully it landed away from the loft, lengthwise along the dog’s running space. All the side branches were removed and chopped up for firewood. The main trunk was too heavy to handle so the decision was to burn it in situ. The burning was not all that successful so by the end of the day the burning end was doused with water before we settled down for the night.
I was, and still am, a light sleeper. Sometime during the night, I became aware of the incessant barking of the dog. I had learned to recognise the different tones of barking; this was an urgent ‘summons’. I jumped out of bed and went to the back door to see what the problem was. To my horror sky-high flames were leaping out of the pigeon loft and getting closer and closer to the dog.
“Fire!” I shouted over my shoulder, at the top of my voice, and rushed outside.
The neighbours had already started arriving to assist. Eugene and Francois came running out, rubbing their eyes, trying to make sense of what was happening. In an instant they were ready for action. The next moment Louis came running out, panicked and bewildered, his only thought was clearly to save his beloved birds. I gave him one look and shouted:
“Go and get some clothes on!”
He looked down and realised that he was stark naked; the way he normally sleeps. He made an about turn and disappeared into the house, his white backside very conspicuous in the light of the fire. He was back in a flash, fully dressed and rather embarrassed.
The fire was doused but it was too late to save the pigeons. The loft was burnt to the ground. The dog was fine; the hero of the day. If it wasn’t for him the fire would have spread undetected. Who knows what further damage there could have been? It appears as if a breeze came up during the night, blowing the ‘ashes’ at the end of the tree trunk back to life. Then the wind changed direction, fuelling the smouldering side. As the wind picked up it caused the fire to burn as if it was helped along by bellows, ‘running’ along the trunk towards the loft. The rest is history. It was a very traumatic experience, especially for Louis. He attempted to rebuild the loft and the flock, but somehow his heart was never in it again.
Back to the present. We made our weekly ‘yoghurt run’ to a veggie shop up the road again today. While waiting in the car I noticed a dad coming out of the shop, pushing a pram with two youngsters in it. All three of them were wearing masks; so cute!
Our number of deaths now stands at 93.
The Western Cape has surpassed Gauteng and now has the most reported COVID-19 cases.
The medical fraternity is up in arms about the arrival and cost of 200+ doctors from Cuba. And that while many of them do not have work and are awaiting assignments.
Boris Johnson’s baby was born.