Most people call them "tree rats" or worse, but in reality, pigeons are one of the creatures that very closely bond with humans.

When my parents moved from Friendswood, after I graduated from high school, my dad found a man to carpool to work with. He only had about another year to work before he retired and two years before he died. The man he rode with raised pigeons, and when he found out my mother liked all kinds of poultry and birds, he brought her some pigeons. You have to take them when they are just ready to leave the nest in order to get them to stay...otherwise, they will always fly home.

I didn't pay much attention to the pigeons until a few years later, my father had died, and she had a Mexican man who built a little house in her backyard, and lived there to help with her yard work, etc. No one could pronounce his name, so everyone called him Archie.

Archie was a very nice man, and he knew my mother loved her pigeons, so one day he brought her a baby pigeon, but it was too small to eat grain, so since I was going to vet tech school at the time, I offered to raise it for her. I raised it on cat chow soaked in milk.

We named the pigeon Archie, and I released him at my mother's house, but although Archie could fly, he preferred to walk and he followed us all over the yard, walking behind us.

One day I came over to take my mother to buy groceries, and as usual, Archie, was walking around on the patio. When we came home, as we rounded the curve to her house, there was the neighbor's dog, trotting home with Archie in his mouth. That was the sad demise of Archie, the pigeon.

I didn't raise another pigeon for about 20 years. I had bought some at a poultry show once upon a time, but they didn't last long before hawks ate them.

I was at Lowe's, in the plant department, and as I walked past a trash can set out in the aisle where someone was cleaning up plants...being the scavenger that I am, I looked in, and there was a pitiful pigeon. He was black and white in color, but completely soaked in roofing tar. His feathers, cemented together, he was a sad sight.

I reached in and got him, and asked the first employee that I found, if I could have a box to take him home.

I remember the lady never said a word to me. She just looked at the bird in disgust and got a box.

At home, I washed him in Dawn. I wish I could say that it just magically dissolved the tar. It didn't, but it did take off some.

I soaked some cat food, and fed him. He was certainly old enough to eat on his own, but he was on the verge of dying, and no telling how long it had been since he had anything to eat or drink.

I bathed him again, and got off a little more, but some of it just wasn't going to come off, and the rest of his life, which unfortunately, wasn't long, his black and white feathers were stained brown.

I named him Checkers. I had him in the house for quite awhile. He did fine. I am fortunate, I guess, in that the creatures I come across that are injured are tough, survivors in the first place. They just need a little help.

I am sure Checkers was young, and probably just leaving the nest, because when he recovered at my house, he didn't leave and fly back to Texas City.

I found a pigeon forum on the internet, and was surprised at the devotion some of the people had to their pet pigeons.

One man had found a pigeon in the middle of city traffic, hit by a car, rescued him, and the pigeon had become his best pal...going everywhere with him. He said he had parrots of all kinds but the pigeon was his favorite bird.

Sadly, one day, while I was gone, Checkers was outside, sitting on the roof, and a hawk got him. I'd like to think that a flock of wild pigeons flew by and he joined up with them...but I have no doubts that he was eaten by a hawk.

The next pigeon to come into my life was Hue. I was in Houston's China Town. Hot, August day. Up against a building, on the sidewalk, was Hue. She had evidently just been kicked out of the nest and was unable to forage on her

own. The heat and lack of food and water had almost killed her.

I brought her home. I got some Pedialyte, and gave it to her with a dropper. After a few hours of that, I gave her the soaked cat food, and she recovered.

Hue loved me. She followed me everywhere, but unlike Archie, she flew from tree to tree.

The picture of her is when she followed me in the woods one day.

Not long after I got Hue, I found Junior under an overpass. He had been hit by a car, and was blind in one eye. He recovered though, and found romance with Hue. They found a spot for a nest...on top of an old shelf, in the corner

of my shed, and raised two babies. Or almost so. Hue, was also eaten by a hawk. It was sad the day that Hue didn't come back, but Junior finished raising the babies.

Before they could fly, I caught them and put them in a big cage. Meanwhile, I had been feeding a flock of wild pigeons, and I released them and I guess they flew off with the wild ones. I know that hawks eat them, but perhaps there is safety in numbers, and it was time to let them go.

To this day, I feed wild pigeons in parking lots. It amuses me the way other people look at me. I do it because "they are there". I also almost always have pet food in my truck because I am always picking it up from somewhere.

I know people look at me like I am a crazy old woman, and that, besides feeding the pigeons, is what makes it fun. Sometimes I see other people throw down a few crumbs to them...I am sure they don't have on hand the

amount of horse, cat, dog or bird food in their vehicles that I do, but taking care of creatures...is one of my favorite causes and I always comment favorably when I see it.

When I see someone feeding the birds or seagulls, I always say, "Thank you for being kind."