My Boyhood Among the Pigeons 7 



ammunition to kill a big bag as we bang away at long 

 range at the birds on their way to the morning feeding- 

 ground. The flight is over by half-past six o'clock and 

 I am home by seven o'clock ready for breakfast and 

 then to scamper off to school. 



"The pigeons in this particular locality have followed 

 the same routine as long as I have known them. They 

 only fly in the morning, always going in the same direc- 

 tion, and I can't recall seeing them coming back again, 

 or flying later in the day. This habit holds until the 

 young squabs are in the nests in June, after which we are 

 likely to find pigeons almost anywhere, for their feeding 

 grounds become scattered and local. 



"One thing that annoys me in these brave days of 

 youth and sport is the poacher, the low-down fellow who 

 steals my birds. I am reckoned a pretty good shot, and 

 I have a first-rate gun, but I am only a boy, so the pigeon 

 thief thinks I am fair picking, and he saves his ammuni- 

 tion by claiming every bird that drops anywhere near 

 him. 



"Another smart dodge of his is to fire into a flock 

 ahead or behind the one I am shooting at and then claim 

 whatever birds fall as the quarry of both our guns. If 

 he is not too big I try to lick him, but generally I have to 

 submit to the rascality unless I can persuade a grown-up 

 friend to take my part. Sometimes these villains hang 

 around my shooting ground without any guns at all, 

 and pick up as many birds as I do. Then I hunt around 



