wouldn't let me bring any more sick pigeons home, since the
birds always died and were covered in lice. But an egg was easy
to hide, and I kept one I'd found on the street in the top drawer
of my bedside table, with a gooseneck lamp to incubate it when
I was ten years old.
After a couple of weeks, I figured the pigeon was ready to hatch,
so I gently began to tap the egg shell open. Inside was a nearly
complete baby pigeon, dead, no doubt, since the day I found
the egg. I never tried to raise a pigeon again.
Not so easily daunted, there are still guys who keep pigeon
coops on their rooftops in New York, often at odds with their
neighbors and the City. Each has managed to hold on to his passion
and his rooftop pigeon paradise.