Putting things into perspective (revised) 06-07-25)
Putting things into perspective
People can blame me for a lot, but by nature I am not a piece of grumpy who makes problems about everything.
When it rains, I am satisfied that it does not storm. When it storms I think 'it will pass'. When the sparrows fall from the roof from the heat, I don't get sad and don't pick them up to throw them back.
'A sparrow that falls from the roof should know that for itself' I think. 'If I had wings, I would never fall off a roof.' For me, the good news is when there is no news. But that I never get annoyed about anything is not true either.
ANNOYANCES
For example, I hate the phone, I am annoyed by stupid questions and what logically makes me completely cranky are stupid questions over the phone. I also hate stupid pigeons and an even greater dislike of stupid pigeons in my loft. Can you imagine how I felt about that man who called for a baby 'of that beautiful pie' he had seen here?
What counts in pigeon sport are beautiful results, not beautiful pigeons. And as far as results are concerned, that pied was the biggest ignoramus I've ever had. And believe me, I've had some idiots of pigeons.
'I'll write about that pied in Sportblad De Duif,' I said. 'In which Dove?'
Jeez. 'In which Dove?' What kind of man did I have on the line?
'I had thought in The Dove, which deals with table manners for May beetles', I said, slightly ironically, but almost vomiting, while I thought 'how long am I going to be able to handle this?'
Because the only source of energy I have when I am asked stupid questions about stupid pigeons over the phone is the courage in my shoes.
FOOL
Donna was the name of that caller. And I avoid people with that name as much as possible. For me, Donna is synonymous with stupid. Maybe it's because of Madonna. That creature with no body part that we have not seen on the screen forever and who sometimes chooses to release a record to attract attention.
Not that I've ever met Madonna or that there are plans in that direction, unless she would pay for it of course, what matters is that people named Donna get on my nerves and I don't trust them at all.
"Here's the thing," Donna said, as if what he was going to say now was really important. 'Here's the thing, the good birds come out of the good birds.'
'Do you think?' I said, and then 'oh never mind', quoting the famous words of Di Fatigo. I didn't feel like it anymore, beckoned to my son, gave him the receiver and ordered him to say 'okay' from time to time.
SUPER STUPID
Now I'm someone who keeps his promise, so I'm going to write about that pied. Dazzlingly beautiful, the caller was right about that. Why a pigeon that is so stupid was in my loft for so long? They don't get much credit with me, do they? True. He survived his birth year because of his beauty, as a yearling he stayed put because of his origins.
THE MOTHER
The mother had performed enormously as a youngster. She won in 3 weeks time 1st Etampes (708 p.), 1st Orleans, (National 9th against more than 24,000 pigeons) a 4th S-National Chartres and a 1st against more than a thousand pigeons.
Good enough for the breeding loft or not? She was there for five years. Five useless years. Strange? Nothing in pigeon sport is strange.
THAT TOO
I once bred two real super twins, the 144 and the 145.
The father (a mediocre racer) was lost that year. 'Eternal shame' you think, but in this case no problem.
I had a brother from him who had performed very well.
So what do you do in such a situation? Mating him with the hen of course.
Six youngsters were bred from them, 6 junks.
Other example.
I once caught a pigeon from a fancier from Berlaar.
It didn't want to leave, so I released it when I had to be nearby.
But, you guessed it, he was back in my loft in no time. This repeated itself a few times and because it was such a sweet tame pigeon, contact was made with the owner. He didn't want it back, I refused to kill the pigeon, got it and sure enough, it turned out to be an asset.
I went to Berlaar with a friend to thank the man and the friend wanted to try to buy something from the same parents.
The father of that lost bird turned out to be a yearling widower who had been removed in the meantime, the fancier from Berlaar did not remember the mother.
My companion bought ten youngsters from the best breeders.
Because if a youngster from a poor widowhood cock was a good one, what kind of breeders did that man have to have, we thought. Among those ten youngsters 'from the best breeders' there was not one that was worth anything.