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Discussion in 'Games, Jokes, and Fun!' started by awesomefowl, May 19, 2011.

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  1. awesomefowl

    awesomefowl Argues with Goats

    (I wrote this a few months back and though someone might want to read it)

    Unfinished: A Pigeon’s Story

    A recent satellite picked up this unfinished manuscript from somewhere around Pluto on January 1, 2000. It was unable to be deciphered by many of the world’s leading scientists, and only recently was found to be written in pure Russian. This was due to its small and extremely scratchy writing, on a very thin unbending paper. Certain original Russian words have been left in for authenticity. The name of the author is still unknown.
    Translated by D.L. *************

    A pigeon? How many creatures, both animal and human, have exclaimed this upon seeing me.
    Yes, I am a pigeon. Not a trumpeter, roller, homing, or exhibition pigeon, but just a common rock pigeon.
    This is my story.

    Chapter 1 * My Early Life
    I was born in a feral colony living on the backstreets of middle twentieth century Soviet Moscow. My father, I am told, was the leader of the colony of large streetwise birds, mean and revengeful. I am also told they used to frequent a local bar’s garbage, and get very drunk on the spilled vodka aroma. Pigeons are not known for their strong heads.
    My mother, on the other hand, was a flighty exhibition dove, overbred and wild. Due to this disposition she had been abandoned on the streets when quite young, which sobered her up somewhat. However, she too would get rather tipsy and wild at times, making me hide my head under my wing for shame. My father would roar with boisterous laughter at me then, and call attention to me by his rowdy friends.

    Naturally, this was crushing to a sensitive and imaginative bird like me, and I grew up rather shy, scared and afraid. I still have not gotten over the scent of that vodka.
    I was especially afraid of humans, having been told a frightful story of a lost chick who had been eaten alive by some dark-eyed starved serfs in the 1800s.
    When I was nearly nine months old, tragedy struck. My parents were both shot by the owner of the garbage pile they frequented. Two of their close acquaintances, Vladimir and Tolstoi were greatly shaken by their deaths. At least, Vladimir was. He became a complete alcoholic, his feathers growing ragged and dirty as he drank himself to death. One night he never returned.

    Tolstoi, now a teetotaler, then tried to comfort me, urging me to move into an empty nest near him so I wouldn’t be lonely. He meant well, being stolid and kind-hearted, but rather unemotional for a Russian.
    I moved in. His nest near me turned out to be rather a bad idea as his wife, Svetlana, was a loud and shrewish hen-- very plump, productive, and good at raising chicks, but a complete headache to be near. Tolstoi loved her though, and they had raised some fine clutches together.
    I would play and tell stories to Svetlana’s latest clutch, both hens, and wonder how long before they would be just like their mother.
    I lived with Tolstoi for one month. I had found that stuffing one’s ears with dirt really blocked out some of the noise, and was beginning to get used to their peculiar ways, when the event that came to define my whole life occurred. Had this not happened, my life would have been much like any other pigeon on the streets of Moscow.

    Chapter 2 * I learn to read and write
    That night which marked my entire life began normally. I tucked my head under my wing and went to sleep immediately. I have always been a good sleeper—too much, in this case.
    As I drifted off into a dreamless hibernation, I thought I was dreaming. I heard a sharp female voice say “Ya ne ponimayu(I do not understand)! You are crazy, Olaf!”
    Then I felt a sharp pain in my breast, and I lost consciousness.
    When I “woke up” I was in a small white cage in a white room filled with cages of all sizes. A euphony of animal sounds filled the room. Dogs barking, cats mewing, hens clucking, and pigeons cooing filled the room with noise. I could not see, but could hear the same sharp female voice in my dream talking on, and on, using language I could not understand.

    My head felt like it was going to explode as a pretty child crossed the room and stuck her hand in the cage to pet me.
    “Here, I’ve brought you a friend!” She cooed in broken Russian, and placed a beautiful little female dove in the cage. Then she looked around as if wary. The sharp voice was coming closer. “I must help my country, beat those Americans,” she said in choked voice, and fled, leaving me and the little dove alone. Now that I am older, I can understand that Anastasia must have been her pet. She gave her up to help what she thought was a right cause.
    The dove sat in the corner, afraid to look at me. I was equally afraid of her, especially as she was a hen. Darkness fell in the room, and I slept again, worn out from the extreme stress I was going through.

    Humans underestimate the stress which transportation and new surroundings puts animals through. They cannot feel it themselves and thus suppose animals can’t; sometimes I have wondered whether humans feel at all. Then I think of that little girl.
    Anyhow, the next two months were a blur of new learning, examinations of my feathers and body, and moving, all done by the sharp-voiced, snapping female with dark hair, whose name turned out to be Natasha, and the gray haired quiet man, Olaf Domoritsky. All I can remember is that at some point these all ceased and I knew how to write and read, which skills have never yet failed me.

    Anastasia, the dove, was moved into an adjoining cage. After the blurred time was over, the humans treated me like a king for reasons unknown to me then, feeding me corn, peas, cooked rice, bits of meat, and leaves of lettuce. I grew sleek shiny, and rather proud, yet still shy. Plus, the noise had ceased, mostly, in the long white room. Only three dogs were left (before there must have been hundreds) and one -dimwitted black hen, who laid a double-yolked brown egg every morning and informed us of the fact with her exuberant clucking. I read her label on the front of the cage. It said “Mary, Black Orloff. ---- those Americans.” The blank was a very dirty, low class word which Natasha would fling at Olaf sometimes. He never said anything in reply.

    The dogs’ labels said “Laika”, “Albina” and “Mushka.” Those poor dogs were fed well, but Laika was a small mongrel who always had an prophetic air of evil foreboding, which scared the other dogs. One day I heard her say “We shall all die.” Another time she said “Soon. Very soon.” I was scared by this but not for long, having unfortunately inherited a short attention span. It is with great difficulty I am writing this, even.

    One day I looked out the bars of the cage to discover the little dove hen miserably hunched in a corner of her cage. Her buff colored feathers were draggled, dirty, and sad-looking. She was sitting next to an untouched bowl of delicious dried peas, and sneezing woefully.
    I gathered up all my courage and said, “Zdravstvuyte; Kak vas zovut (Hello; what is your name)?

    The dove turned her head towards me and whispered, “My name is Anastasia. What is—y-y-yours?”
    I replied, “My name is-“ But just then Natasha came in, swearing huskily at everything in sight, and snatched Anastasia out of her cage. Natasha was nearly as bad as Svetlana, I reflected, wondering what she was doing with the little dove.

    Half an hour later, Natasha was back.”This little one—she is stupid!” She exclaimed exasperately as she none too gently shoved Anastasia back in her cage. “You are smarter, but still stupid,” Natasha told me through the bars of the cage. “I am about to get fired by Olaf, all because of that one ---- dove! I’m only his wife!” Natasha stalked out of the room swearing angrily. “That dove! Those pigeons! That dove! Those dogs! Those ---- dogs!!!”

    Gradually the sound of Natasha’s harsh voice faded out, down the long halls and corridors past the door of the white room. I pulled my head out from under my sleek wing, where I had hidden it desperately during Natasha’s long dissertation.

    Anastasia was huddled in the corner of her cage again, looking more bedraggled than ever. I said Zdravstvuyte to her again and her frightened head to turned to meet my gaze.
    Her eyes were the most beautiful eyes I ever have seen in human or bird. They were dark brown, large, lustrous, and exceptionally lovely. I started back at meeting her gaze. But then I saw the frightened hunger, grief, and sadness in them, and set out to comfort this poor, yet beautiful hen.
    “So, where are you from?” I asked her, trying to start a conversation and bring her out of her shell. That was not a pun.
    “I am from the Ukraine.” She answered tentatively. Her voice was also exceptionally sweet and soft. “My mistress Sofia left me here for the humans to experiment on.”
    With a start, I realized why we were here. “How did you find that out?” I demanded.
    “Sofia told me all that on the way here.” Anastasia looked tragic again.
    “Never mind; don’t worry.” I said bravely. “Eat so that you won’t die. They are treating us well here, and I have learned to read.” I was very proud of this accomplishment.
    “ Please don’t worry!” I entreated her hastily as she started to peck at the peas.
    She lifted up her head and said, “But I can’t learn! They will probably eat me!”
    I knew what to say. “No one eats doves. My mother was a dove, just like you, and no one ate her.” I decided Anastasia didn’t need to know what happened to my mother.

    Anastasia pecked a little stronger. “Was your mother a good mother?”
    “Well, she was most of the time. You are prettier than she was, though,” I added truthfully, wanting to make this poor hen feel happier.
    Anastasia regarded me warily after this last remark. “You look like a nice pigeon.” She said after visually inspecting me. “How old are you?”
    “I’m ten months old.” I said, wondering how old she was.
    “I’m eight months old,” Anastasia said through a beakful of grit. She giggled softly then got shy again, and retreated to her corner with her head under her wing, for night was coming.
    Last edited: Oct 8, 2011
  2. awesomefowl

    awesomefowl Argues with Goats

    Chapter 3 * My heart is broken
    The next week I got to know little Anastasia much better. I liked her very much. By the next week, I had fallen in love with her, her eyes, and her sweet disposition. By the fourth week of knowing Anastasia, I was very happy.
    Natasha was gone for good, and to replace her as assistant Olaf had hired a short, gentle female government agent who wasn’t bright mentally but was very good with the animals, especially the three dogs.
    Before her arrival I had heard a lot of swearing from Natasha, and Olaf trying to calm her down. “I’m only your wife, oh no, and you won’t let me help you!” Natasha would scream at Olaf. “You’d rather send for a ---- from Leningrad to play with the ----- animals!” Svetlana was beginning to look good compared to this woman. At least Svetlana didn’t use profanity.
    One day, Olaf reached the end of his tether. He ordered his wife to go home and actually forced her to leave “for the good of Russia.” He didn’t say much, but for once in her life Natasha obeyed him, leaving parting words so sharp and loud that they echoed in the big halls for days afterwards.
    So, now the new assistant was here, it seemed, for good. I had asked Anastasia to make a nest with me, and she had agreed happily. But there were no nesting materials, and a harsh wall separated us two. I tried to make the new assistant see and put us together, but she didn’t seem to understand my urgent grunting and cooing. To this day I do not understand that assistant.
    On day, Anastasia was very quiet. “Tell me what is wrong!” I asked her, fearing something serious. But Anastasia, ordinarily quite talkative, wouldn’t reply. Then suddenly she burst out, “It’s that dog, Laika! She said-she-said…” The dove quite broke down. If she had been a human she would have sobbed.
    “Oh my dear, what is the matter?” I asked in alarm, wishing with all my might that that wall wasn’t separating us.
    “Laika said, she said, well I will tell you what she said—“ Anastasia sneezed, and got control of herself.
    “The dog said that I would never see you again after tomorrow afternoon.”
    This struck a shaft of icy fear into my avian heart. “How does she think she knows?” I asked, my whole form trembling with fright.
    “She said she just knows it.” Anastasia insisted. “Something bad is going to happen tomorrow. I just know it!”
    I longed to put my wing around her and comfort her, but there was that wall again.
    Anastasia was breaking down again. “I will always love you, even if I never see you again!” Then she went to sleep.
    I couldn’t eat that night. I couldn’t sleep either. My heart was filled with foreboding.
    The next morning, everything was crazy in the white room. All the cages were moved out of the room. They were bumpily carried out by Olaf and the new assistant, and my brains felt mixed up in the turmoil.
    When my head felt straight again, I looked round through a glass window on a new, larger cage for Anastasia. I called her name repeatedly, but all in vain.
    She was not anywhere in this new, forbidding, busy human-filled room. I never saw her again.

    Chapter 4 * Space Pigeon
    The next few days I went through vigorous training I didn’t understand. Yet through it all my heart was heavy and sad, missing Anastasia, yet hoping against hope that she would return. One night as I lay limp on the bedding of the new cage, I overheard two humans conversing outside of my confinement.
    “What do you plan to do with the pigeon?” A female voice asked.
    “Da (yes), I am going to send him out with Zhuchka (Little Bug- Laika’s nickname) in the shuttle tomorrow.” A heavy man’s voice with a heavy accent, even for a Russian, replied.
    “It will be a space pigeon!” The female voice tittered. I shut my eyes and went to sleep, not wanting to know what these cruel humans were going to do to me next.

    The next morning the lights in the room were switched on sooner than usual. There was an air of mystery about the whole place.
    I was fed, then taken out of my cage and placed in a strange-looking machine-thing, which had wires and buttons all over the inside. I was shut in a tiny glass box inside. A loud hissing noise startled me, and I flapped my wings up in fright. The humans all laughed, and then put the dog Laika in the larger compartment. A second hissing noise commenced.
    The top on this contraption shut, and in a short while a huge, deafening bang went off. Laika barked, I made the loudest noise my limited vocal cords could produce, and everything was all crazy for a moment.
    In a few seconds, we looked out the glass windows. All around us was black space filed with white dots, and a large sized green, blue and white ball was floating in front of the machine.
    Laika barked again, and following her natural dog instinct she tried to “catch” the ball. Her jaws shut on the cold glass.
    At that point in my life I didn’t realize what I was seeing: the planet Earth.

    Chapter 5 * Laika’s death
    We lived like this for several days. Laika ate her apportioned amount of gel-like food every day, and I ate some feed someone had scattered on my floor.
    One day, after eating her food, Laika became very ill. She tossed and turned and complained howling of hurting stomach. Then she became still, and I realized she must be dying.

    I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she either didn’t understand me or wouldn’t.
    Laika barked a last time, a single piercing noise which echoed around the tiny cabin even after she died. It has always been my belief she was poisoned.
    Now I was alone in the cabin. I felt lonely and thought I would probably die too. I was afraid to eat for fear of being poisoned myself, and so tried to sleep. I soon fell asleep in earnest, and didn’t wake up for a long time.

    Chapter 6 * A New Planet
    I have always thought it exceedingly odd that I have, in my life, woken up two times to a different place. Perhaps I am too much of a sound sleeper. The first time was when I woke up in the laboratory; (for I have heard since that was what it was) the second I am about to relate to you.
    I woke up, not on the satellite (I have also heard this is what the machine was called) but only in the glass box, hurtling through black space at incredible speeds.
    But then, suddenly it was all over. I had hit something hard, and glass. I lost consciousness.
    When I opened my eyes, I was sprawled on a glass window of a silvery, shiny blue vehicle. Icouldn’t breathe and was gasping desperately.
    And I was staring into the eyes of a human. It was a female human wearing a warm fluffy jacket with siivery fur around the hood. She had eyes the color of ice, tinged with blue, and very strange thick heavy hair which looked like fur. She looked very young. She spoke in amazement some strange language; I suppose she was surprised at seeing me there.
    Immediately another human, a young male, came in and said something to her in a jesting tone. Then he saw me and his mouth fell open. At seeing the inside of a human’s mouth I shut my eyes. How disgusting humans can be, when they do not brush their teeth! Birds are quite blessed not to have any, I always think.
    Next thing I knew I was inside the vehicle and breathing delicious oxygen again. My lungs filled with the beautiful gas.
    The girl was holding me, for I was too weak with stress to struggle much, and the other human was standing over me wonderingly. I heard them say something which sounded like this:
    “Trippy, fou mal a que Earthay!”
    Then the girl, whose name I guessed was probably Trippy, would ask: “Hario, noustey leta emet?” in a questioning tone.
    I nearly fainted again, because I was also very hungry, when the entire vehicle felt a thump. We had obviously landed.

    Trippy lifted me gently off her lap, and stood up. I saw then that she was very stocky, and rather short. The other human was only slightly taller and very strongly built also. I also saw that he was wearing a shirt (original Russian translated as feathers) which had two numbers, 77, on it, and some strange characters I could not read, being educated
    in Russian only.
    Then I jumped and tried to flap my wings. The male human had given a loud yell and raced down a ramp in the vehicle towards a huge stadium in the middle of an ice field. He had vaulted over the low fence around it and disappeared from sight. Trippy muttered, pouted, and slowly followed him, carrying me still.
    The sudden cold astonished me and made me shiver. Even though I was Russian, I was not used to such extreme cold. I had spent most of my life thus far in either a laboratory or a warm nest, where Svetlana’s talking kept us warm.
    She walked through an open gate right next the spot in the fence where the other human had vaulted over it. Then she sat down on a chair, and buttoned me inside her coat. I soon fell asleep.

    Chapter 7 * My New Life
    The next day, my first day on this new, strange country, Trippy carried me everywhere in a little heated carrier. She was very kind to me, and fed me a strange sort of stuff which tasted like latex paint and old-fashioned glue mixed to together. I ate it without complaint, partly since I was so hungry, and partly because I saw that was what she was eating too.

    I was able to observe this planet at close range. My observations at first were simply: 1) it was cold. 2) it was cold. 3) it was very cold. Even I could see the only way the humans survived was because of their warm coats. They all wore these coats at all times, and were very calm, stocky, rather plump, and happy.
    But the most common thing they did was play a strange game. They wore curious shoes with a sharpened blade on the bottom, which cut the ice with which their entire planet was coated, and enable them to “skate” along very fast indeed. In the game they all held long sticks with a flat part at the end, and pushed a flat, small, round, thing along the ice into two opposite goals. They often fought while playing this game, and often got very incensed. Both sexes would play this game but the men often got the most upset over it.
    The planet’s terrain was very simple: ICE. Only ice and cold covered this lonely planet. Yet the people had a contagious happiness, which soon spread to me.

    There were many shy, hardy animals upon the planet. I have never seen one close up. The humans feed upon these animals.

    Chapter 8 * (Untitled)
    I have now resided upon this strange planet for about 21 days and nights. I have only been able to learn a few words in their language; remember a common pigeon’s brain is quite small.
    I now live with Trippy and her brother Hari: they treat me very well. Yet I often long to see Earth and the old country once more before I die.
    And I often wish that (manuscript became unintelligible at this point)

  3. NixNoodleNumbat

    NixNoodleNumbat Chillin' With My Peeps

    Jan 1, 2011
    That is really good![​IMG]
  4. Dutchgirl

    Dutchgirl Not Dutch!

    Apr 1, 2008
    So... what DID happen to the pigeon in the last few chapters? I couldn't really tell.
  5. crazygoatlady915

    crazygoatlady915 Chillin' With My Peeps

    Mar 30, 2011
    AWESOME! Is the pigeon on Pluto?
  6. awesomefowl

    awesomefowl Argues with Goats

    Quote:He gets stuck on another planet, then the manuscript was too unintelligible.
  7. awesomefowl

    awesomefowl Argues with Goats

    PLease delete. Thanks!
  8. Judy

    Judy Chicken Obsessed Staff Member Premium Member

    Feb 5, 2009
    South Georgia
    Closed at request of OP
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