‘Paraiya’ rearing religion with a stool pigeon

Gaston de Rosayro

My brother Denis raised pigeons as a youth in our Colombo home side yard. There was nothing strange or outlandish about raising such birds. It. was a common hobby among lads at the time. And those envious peers of theirs who did not own such fanciful feathered friends vindictively called them 'Parai Pukas' when roughly translated means 'Pigeon Bottoms.'

Denis cajoled my grandfather into hiring a carpenter to build large fancy dovecotes for his pet flock. There were two large separate coops where they paired up and called home sweet home. It all looked pretty lovey-dovey and the birds were well fed. Pigeon keeping is the art and science of breeding domestic pigeons. With some it is almost a religion.

People have practiced pigeon keeping for about 10,000 years in almost every part of the world. In that time, humankind has substantially altered the physiology and the behaviour of the domesticated descendants of the rock dove to suit his needs for food, aesthetic satisfaction and entertainment.

These pigeon houses contained specially constructed openings to allow the birds liberty for purposes of exercise while allowing them to re-enter the house without special assistance from the keeper. At the same time they were constructed to keep the pigeons safe from predators and inclement weather and give them nesting places in which to raise their squabs.

People who breed pigeons are commonly referred to as pigeon fanciers and not 'parai pukas' as so spitefully called by jealous non-breeders. They were definitely the fattest pigeons I have ever seen. They appeared to have a pretty easy life. These feathered prima donnas were provided comfy roosts, absolutely luxury housing when compared with the wild peers.

There was no likelihood of their needing to put a whole lot of effort into finding food each day. All they needed to do was make the short flight to the ground from the coops or the roof and wander about pecking and gorging themselves on prime gram seeds.

Denis' pigeons were kept and bred for their aerial performance and for reproduction only. If any of us teasingly suggested that some of them were fat enough for a dumpling dish he would go red in the face and threaten blue murder.

But we would persist and remark that some of the more fancied Carrier Pigeons would be better suited as 'Currier Pigeons' He was a committed hobbyist and breeder from the age of about 11 to 13 or thereabouts.

You could never pigeonhole his flock. He had such a variety of them and being promiscuous - the pigeons not Denis - their progeny came in diverse hues. What an assortment of feathered doves they were to be sure. There were the white ones, the chocolate ones, the speckled ones, the pied ones and the Fantails. There were also the Racing Homers a type of Homing pigeon and Rollers, Tumblers and Tipplers. Among the purebreds were a variety of fantail pigeons, with feathered feet and turkey-like tails. Others were large pouters whose males puffed out their chests, proud rooster style.

There was Big Homer who soon established top social rank among the free-ranging flock. He had an overwhelming passion for romancing the females who were already hitched to their chosen mates. But he was plucky and displayed his fearlessness among even some of the bigger males. His cock-of-the-walk attitude had given him a reputation for arrogance, aggression and promiscuity.

The mating usually took place when 'Homer the Roamer' would begin his deep throated courting ritual. He would prance about looking totally stupid with his wings stuck back, trying to catch the attention of the smaller lady-pigeons, who would step out of the way disdainfully. This would prompt the other males to march in circles making their funny mating calls, while the females did their best to avoid them. Well, birds of a feather sometimes do flop together!

A dozen of them would be launched into the air from a mile or two away and would fly back home in formation. They would then do quite a bit of 'helicoptering' directly above the roof and then come swooping down to rest and eat. You could always be sure that when the flock returned from an aerial exercise they would lure new recruits to join them. As soon as the flock landed there would be at least two or three 'outsiders' who had followed them.

The feathered guests would soon join their hosts in their repast, drink thirstily and make themselves at home in a vacant cote or settle themselves in the rafters of the roof edging. As time went on one could tell that there were no common yard birds among the flock. They were not regular common or garden pigeons. They were strange and intriguing exotic birds. As pigeons go, these strutting exotic beauties were hardly the pathetic variety that plague parking lots, foul up sidewalks or noisily perch atop statuary.

In similarity to most species, including humans, the squabs never knew who their fathers were. And unless their mothers started singing like canaries, no one would ever solve the puzzle of how a dull greenish winged female was able to produce a gorgeous, shimmering feathered peacock blue chick. Denis was proud of the fact that he had sold his prize Racing Homer eight times. Good old 'Homer the Roamer' never failed to return to his original roost. Denis had a man named Bernard to clean the pigeon cotes on a regular basis. Now Bernard was a tittle-tattle who used to snitch to several other breeders that Denis' flock had lured some of their pigeons to roost with them. Although it is hard to establish rights to any particular bird there is a sort of code among breeders that a straying pigeon should be returned to its rightful owner.

But the problem was that Bernard was a dedicated pigeon handler. Come to think of it he resembled a pigeon as well with his beady orange eyes. The day he was found out Bernard was given a final warning. And Denis was able to quip to everyone that he had the rarest flock of a mixed aviary. Not forgetting of course Bernard, the 'Stool Pigeon.'

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