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It was Christmastime in England. There
were two wood pigeons sitting on a
telegraph pole.
“I’m cold and wet,” said one of the
pigeons, “I wish I were somewhere nice
and warm.”
“I was in Valencia once,” said the other
pigeon, “That was nice and warm. And the
statues there are very friendly. One of
them told me a story, a story about a
grebe.”
The other pigeon asks, “What’s a grebe?”
“A grebe is a fishing bird that lives by
the lagoon in Valencia.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Come on then. Tell me the story.”
“Some small boys were playing beside a
fountain in Valencia. They were laughing
and having a great time. Suddenly, one
of the boys slipped and fell into the
water. The fish saw the boy in the water
but the fish were frightened of small
boys.
“Small boys throw stones at us,” said
one fish.
“Small boys try to catch us with nets,”
said another fish. So the fish didn’t
help the boy in the water and the boy
was in terrible trouble. Then the geese
saw the boy in the water but geese don’t
like small boys.
“Small boys steal our eggs and their
fathers shoot at us with guns.” So the
geese did nothing and the small boy was
going to drown. Then the grebe saw the
small boy drowning in the water. She
dived in and said to the boy,”Hold on to
my neck and I’ll save you.”
The boy hung on to the grebe’s neck and
the bird helped the boy out of the
water. The boy ran back to the other
boys and they all began throwing stones
at the grebe. The grebe flew away before
the boys could hurt her.”
Then the pigeon said, “Sometimes, when
you help people, they are very
ungrateful.
“Yeah I’d noticed that,” said the other
pigeon. The pigeon then told his friend
how relaxing it was to sit on a
Valencian statue and listen to the
fountains, especially when it’s nice and
warm. The pigeons closed their eyes and
imagined they were in Valencia. Soon
they were asleep and the soothing sound
of the fountains filled their sleepy
thoughts with happy dreams.
Goodnight, my pigeon friends.
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