It was an ordinary day. I was 12 years old and was playing with my pet pigeon. My pigeon was one of 6 that my Grandpap and I had bid on and won from the auction house at Root's Market. My Grandpap often took me to the Tuesday market with the intention of coming home with some new animals. At least it was HIS intention. It seems that 5 of the pigeons were in good shape, but one evidently had a broken wing and when my parents made me release the pigeons on Wednesday the wounded pigeon couldn't fly. "Mom, I have to fix that wing." With her assistance we put a popsicle stick on the wing, holding it in place with rubberbands. He (or she) didn't seem to mind and started to mend. A few weeks later my parents planned on celebrating their anniversary. They were going to go to dinner and a show in the evening. At the same time I decided to see if my wounded pigeon was getting any better so I opened his cage and removed the splint. HE TOOK OFF! I guess he was better. Not wanting to part with him quite yet, I took off after him. I saw him on the flat roof of a garage in the back alley. I went home and grabbed an old washline. I figured I could lasso him if I got on top of the gate that was next to the garage. I started to climb the gate when all of a sudden the gate started to move. I lost my balance and fell about 5 feet to the ground. I instantly knew something was wrong with my arm. I walked back home and entered the kitchen. My Mom saw me and immediately knew something was wrong. The bend in my forearm was the only clue she needed. She yelled for Dad and they drove me to the hospital. BROKEN! Yep. There goes the anniversary evening. And to top that off, the pigeon got away! It was an extraordinary day in the life of an ordinary guy.
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