Fly Away - Tom Castaldi (best authors to read TXT) 📗

Fly Away by Tom Castaldi


It was a great day to be off, even though we couldn’t play outside.
I was 7 years old when the big storm hit New York. It was a Thursday a wet and dark Thursday. We had off from school due to the storm.
At that time there were 6 children in our family. We lived on Glenmore Avenue in Brooklyn.
I was the second oldest and the one to keep the others occupied just by my nature. I could make a game out of nothing at all. One memory I have, which by the way, I know my brothers and sisters still remember.
My Grandparents on both my Mothers and Fathers side were some how into the sewing business. There were tons of tape measures around along with pins and thread.

When all the work went away, somehow my mother managed to get the thread from everyone. I being the most resourceful one saw a great opportunity to take advantage of all these treasures.

I decided the thread would make a great spiders web. I went over to the many boxes in the cellar that we inherited. There were a couple that only had sewing thread in them. Inside was a combination of different spool sizes and many colors and thread diameters. I knew I hit the jackpot.

We lived in a four family apartment that was owned by my Father and Mother. There were 3 bedrooms; of course, my mother and father had their own room so that left the Boys bedroom and the Girls room.
Bunk beads in both and another single bed. Me being the second oldest I had the upper level of the bunk bed.

I assembled the team together and made sure everyone had their own spool of thread. We went into my bedroom and instructed them to attach the string anywhere they could find a lashing post. I told them to go to opposite ends of the room and wherever they could wrap or tie the thread around it.

Well, your probably thinking what was his mother doing all this time and what would she say if she knew what was going on? Alls I can say is, She wasn’t worried about the thread for we had more than the armed forces combined. We were all confined in one room and we were out of her hair so it was fine with her.
By the time we finished, there were webs all around us. It was a thing of beauty. We just stared at each other and felt a great sense of pride over what we had created.

My story starts with my walk from home from school the next day. It was a cloudy day but, it had stopped raining. It was close to a mile from home to school. It felt like that anyway. On cold winters days, we were glad to have reached school just to warm up.

Down the block from school was an elevated train. It ran down Fulton street for as far as you could see. In the other direction in about 2 blocks, it turned onto Crescent street. The track assembly was fasten to the sidewalk with these huge steel girders. It was at the base of one of these girders I first saw the pigeon. He looked beat up from the storm and his feathers were still wet and ruffled from the wind and rain.

He was so exhausted I just went over and picked him up. That’s the time I noticed the metal band on his leg. There were some raised letters followed by numbers. I took the bird on that long trek home. Somehow the walk didn’t seem so long. Luckily for me my brother was with me and I managed to talk him into carrying my books.

Once at home I took a cardboard box and made a little cage for him. I put a little saucer of water and some pieces of bread. He just fluffed up and huddled in a corner of the box. I figured He needed the rest so I just watched him for some time. When it was time for me to go to bed I threw a blanket over the top of the box.

When I woke I removed the blanket and that startled him. He seemed to look a little better but you can tell he had a bad experience. The saucer that the water was in was dry. I don’t know if he drank it or tipped the water out.
It was time to get the bird some help.

There was a Pet Shop on Pitkin Avenue that catered to pigeon flyers. I placed the bird in a smaller box and took him to the Pet shop with me. The owners name was Joe. We use to go there sometimes just to look at the birds. It was cheap entertainment in those days. It also kept us out of trouble.

Once there I saw Joe and explained that I had found a bird and I need some advice on how to care for him. Joe grabbed the bird and held its feet between his fingers. He cupped the rest of the bird with his hand and held him in place. He showed me how to do it and passed the bird back to me so I could do it. I had no problem restraining the bird this way and felt very comfortable with it.
Joe took the bird back from me and read the band. He told me it was a good racing homer. Joe faced the band towards me and read off the letters and numbers. He told me the first two letters represented the club and the next set of numbers the birds identification number. He explained that the band was placed on the bird’s leg when it was just a few weeks old. He told me the bird was from a racing Pigeon club in New Jersey. He said it got caught in the storm and lost his way.

He then looked into the bird’s eyes and felt under the bird’s throat. He said the bird hasn’t eaten in a few days. I asked him how he knew that. He took my hand and placed it a few inches below the bird’s throat. He said this is what is called his Crop. When he eats this is where the feed is stored. It is the place where the food is ground up and digestion takes place. He said, “pigeons also eat little particles of sand that helps crush the seeds it eats.”
He also said, “When the bird eats and its full the crop when squeezed will feel like a bean bag.

Joe put the bird in a cage and placed some pigeon feed into the bottom tray of the cage. He said, “It will eat if he’s hungry”. After observing the bird for some time, Joe said, “He needs some antibiotics for a faster recovery. You are also going to have to hand feed him to jump start him.”
He laid a handful of seeds on the counter and told me to sort out all the corn and peas from the pile. He placed all the remaining seed back into an open faced wooden trough behind the counter.

He took the bird in his hand and lay the bird upside down on it’s back to his palm. He picked up a pea seed and with one hand held the bird’s beak open and with the other he dropped the pea into the bird’s mouth. When he let go of the beak the bird automatically swallowed the seed. He said, “that’s one down fifty to go.”

He asked me, “what are you going to do with him.” Then it hit me, I don’t know I told him. He said, if I was able to get the bird back into good shape, I could set him free and he will return to his loft. He also informed me there were no guarantees the bird will recover. Well, I knew the bird would have probably died, I had to give it a try.

He showed me how to feed the bird, I knew I could do it with confidence. He handed me a bag and told me to pick out all the large corn and peas and fill the bag half way. I went behind the counter where the feed was stored. It took quite a few minutes but I managed to complete my task.
He then placed 10 pills on the counter top and said, “This should do it.”
He told me to cut each pill in quarters and mix one chopped up piece of pill into a pint of water every day. He said, after I feed the bird to take an eyedropper and just like the feed hold the bird’s beak open and squirt some of the antibiotic solution down the bird’s throat. He also said to use the rest of the solution in his water bowl. Remember to do this every day for at least two weeks. The bird will be showing signs that it is healthy again.

He reached around to the feed trough and added a scoop of mixed seed to my corn and pea mixture. He said, not to worry, the small seed will go down to the bottom of the bag and it will still be easy to take the large pieces out.
Once the Bird starts eating by him self then you can give him the smaller seed also.

He said, “ Five dollars should cover it.” Wow… I never thought of money.
I felt like a deer in the headlights of a car. He asked, " You do have money, don’t you?" I guess the look on my face answered his question. He caught on immediately and told me to bring the money when I return the cage. I looked up at him and said, that will be fine.

He placed the bird in a metal cage and reminded me to return the cage when I was through with it. He placed the pills in a little bag and I slipped it into my pocket. He handed me the handle of the cage and then placed the bag of feed in my other hand. He asked if I could handle it. I told him I was fine. I thanked him for his help and he said, “ If you need anything else stop by.”

Once at home I went down to the basement. I set up an old table and placed it right by the oil burner so the bird will stay warm. I placed the cage on the table. I slid out the bottom tray and placed newspapers down. I then searched around for something heavy but not too high for the birds water.
I found an old ashtray that fit the bill. It was heavy but not so tall. I drove a nail into the wooden beam and hung an extension light over the cage. Things were starting to work well. The bird just stared at me the whole time I was setting up camp.

I figured I should quarter the pill and get it dissolved in water next. I used a razor blade to half then quarter the pill. I crushed the pill with the back of a screwdriver in a coffee cup. It worked out very well the pill just turned to a powder. To the coffee cup