My mother had a very bad flu. But, like most mothers, she didn't want to take rest and wouldn't let herself be cared for. Her godmother, whom we called Yi, an old lady of almost 90 years, came one day with a pigeon in a bag.
"Here, daughter!", she took it out and gave it to me. It was as brown as chocolate, and it moved its little head from side to side looking around, gurgling softly.
"I don't know how to do that!" I looked at her, and she didn't care what I was saying.
"You have to learn, I'm not going to teach you. I'm going, you tell your mother to take it, that it will cure her". And she left walking with the help of her cane, with a large cloth bag that she always carried over her shoulder. She was a petite woman, very agile for her age, with short white hair.
I held the pigeon in my hand, thinking. I'm not going to kill it, I don't have the heart to do it, and I'm not going to give it to someone else to do it either. I'm sure my mother won't want to drink that consommé. The best thing to do is to ask her. And that's what I did.
My godmother thinks I'm going to drink pigeon consommé.
"Ha, ha, ha, no, daughter, I cure myself with my lemon and ginger tea and I take a pill. And I already made myself a syrup with aloe vera, purple onion and honey for my cough".
Poor little pigeon, I still had her in my hands caressing his little head! He seemed to feel very comfortable and warm. Surely he sensed that he was safe there, that we wouldn't hurt his.
"Gee!, who would think of killing a defenseless animal to cure us", I expressed a little annoyed.
"Daughter!, she did it with good intentions. It is said that this consommé helps to raise the defenses, and in her time it was very common to make this kind of consommé for women who had just given birth. I remember my mother telling me that my grandmother, who lived on a farm in the countryside, was given pigeon consommé during the forty days of rest, what they called quarantine".
"Can you imagine, Mom!, how many pigeon chicks were sacrificed? I understand that I wanted to help you, but there are other ways to do it". I was against animal abuse, even if it was for food.
The pigeon squab stayed living with us. My dad and sisters loved it, and we named it Chocolate.
We made him a nest with a box and some old flannels, and there he lay down and felt so comfortable that he only came out to eat.
Chocolate grew up and began to flap his wings to fly. He was already an adult, but since we didn't want to put him in a cage, he flew first inside the apartment and then to the patio, which had no roof. There, on the edge of the wall, he would look at us and look up at the sky, towards the trees where he saw the other pigeons flying, until one day he made up his mind and lost his fear and flew to the nearest tree.
"We have to let him go" I told my younger sister, who didn't want him to leave. "He has to be with other pigeons, but he can come back whenever he wants".
And so he did. The next day he came back and so on every day. At first by herself, but then with other pigeons. My sisters and I would sit on the fence wall in the yard and feed them raw rice seeds and birdseed. Chocolate would come up to us, wagging her tail and making her characteristic cooing noise, to eat from our hands.
One day we realized she had a companion. A white pigeon that he courted by inflating his crop and circling around him as he gurgled louder.
"Is that your girlfriend, Chocolate? How cute she is". I would say to him when he approached me! I would hold him and stroke his little head. At that moment, he would stay quiet, with his eyes closed. Until he moved, and I would put him on the ground so he could go back to his family of pigeons.
One day we noticed that Chocolate and his mate were making a nest on top of a tall cabinet in the kitchen. They chose the safest place, they knew we would protect them. There the little white dove laid two eggs and, between them, they hatched them. They took turns eating what we gave them. They didn't have far to go.
But when the two chicks hatched white like the mother, something happened that surprised us... the white pigeon left. Chocolate was left alone, feeding his chicks until they were able to fly.
In time, Chocolate returned to the yard courting a gray pigeon; he had found a new mate. That made us happy, as we were thrilled with everything that happened in his life.
Eventually, some trees were cut down and the group of pigeons that lived in that area, including our beloved pigeon, did not return. We miss his and I always remember his.
Un hogar para Chocolate
Mi madre estaba con una gripe muy fuerte. Pero, como la mayoría de las madres, no quería tomar reposo y no se dejaba cuidar. Su madrina, a quien llamábamos Yi, una viejecita de casi 90 años, llegó un día con un pichón de paloma metido en una bolsa.
—¡Toma, hija!, —lo sacó y me lo dio en las manos. Era de un color marrón como el chocolate, y movía su cabecita de un lado al otro mirando a su alrededor, gorgojeando suavemente.
—¡Yo no sé hacer eso! —La miré y ella no le dio importancia a lo que le estaba diciendo.
—¡Tienes que aprender! yo no te voy a enseñar. Ya me voy, le dices a tu mamá que se lo tome, que eso la va a curar.
Y salió caminando con ayuda de su bastón, con un bolso de tela grande que siempre llevaba colgado al hombro. Era una mujer menuda y muy ágil a su edad, con el cabello corto completamente blanco.
Me quedé con el pichón en la mano pensando. Yo no lo voy a matar, no tengo corazón para hacerlo y tampoco se lo voy a dar a otra persona para que lo haga. Seguro que mi mamá no se va a querer tomar ese consomé. Lo mejor es preguntarle. Y eso hice.
—¿Mi madrina cree que yo me voy a tomar un consomé de paloma?. Ja, ja, ja, no, hija, yo me curo con mi té de limón y jengibre y me tomo una pastilla. Y ya me hice un jarabe con sábila, cebolla morada y miel para la tos.
¡Pobre palomita, yo aún la tenía en mis manos acariciándole la cabecita! Ella parecía sentirse muy cómoda y calentita. Seguramente intuía que allí estaba segura, que no le haríamos daño.
—¡Caramba!, a quien se le ocurre matar a un animal indefenso para curarnos, —expresé un poco molesta.
—¡Hija, ella lo hizo con buena intención! Se dice que ese consomé ayuda a subir las defensas y en su época era muy común hacer ese tipo de consomé para las mujeres que acababan de parir. Yo recuerdo que mi madre me contaba que a mi abuela que vivía en una hacienda en el campo le daban consomé de paloma durante los cuarenta días de reposo, lo que llamaban la cuarentena.
—¡Te imaginas, mamá, la cantidad de pichones de palomas sacrificados! Entiendo que quería ayudarte, pero hay otras maneras de hacerlo. —Yo estaba en contra del maltrato animal, aun si era para alimentarnos.
El pichón de paloma se quedó viviendo con nosotros. A mi papá y a mis hermanas les encantó y le pusimos de nombre Chocolate.
Le hicimos un nido con una caja y unas franelas viejas y allí se echó y se sintió tan a gusto que solo salía para comer.
Chocolate fue creciendo y comenzó a agitar sus alas para volar. Ya era un adulto, pero como no quisimos encerrarlo en una jaula, volaba primero dentro del apartamento y luego hasta el patio, que estaba sin techo. Allí, en el borde de la pared, nos miraba y miraba al cielo, hacia los árboles donde veía a las otras palomas volar, hasta que un día se decidió y perdió el miedo y voló hasta el árbol más cercano.
—Hay que dejarlo ir, —le dije a mi hermana más pequeña que no quería que se marchara. —Tiene que estar con otras palomas, pero puede volver cuando quiera. Ya verás que nos va a visitar.
Y así lo hizo. Al día siguiente regreso y así todos los días. Luego regresaba con otras palomas. Mis hermanas y yo nos sentábamos en el muro de la reja del patio a darles de comer granos de arroz crudo y alpiste. Chocolate se nos acercaba moviendo la cola y haciendo su arrullo característico.
Un día nos dimos cuenta de que tenía una compañera. Una paloma blanca a la que cortejaba inflando su buche y dando vueltas a su alrededor mientras gorgojeaba más fuerte.
—¿Esa es tu novia, Chocolate? ¡Qué linda es, —le decía mientras se me acercaba. Yo lo cargaba y le acariciaba su cabecita. En ese momento se quedaba tranquilo, con los ojos cerrados. Hasta que se movía, y yo lo ponía en el suelo para que volviera con su familia de palomas.
Un día nos dimos cuenta de que Chocolate y su pareja estaban haciendo un nido encima de un gabinete alto que había en la cocina. Ellos escogieron el lugar más seguro, sabían que los protegeríamos. Allí la palomita blanca puso dos huevos y entre ambos los empollaron. Se turnaban para comer lo que nosotros les dábamos. No tenían que ir muy lejos.
Pero al nacer los dos polluelos blancos como la madre, sucedió algo que nos sorprendió... la paloma blanca se marchó. Chocolate se quedó solo, alimentando a sus hijos hasta que pudieron volar.
A los dias, Chocolate regresó al patio cortejando a una paloma gris; había encontrado una nueva compañera. Eso nos alegró, ya que nos emocionábamos con todo lo que ocurría en su vida. Con el tiempo, algunos árboles fueron talados y el grupo de palomas que vivía en esa zona, incluyendo a nuestra querida paloma, no regresó. La extrañamos y siempre la recuerdo.
La traducción al inglés la realice en www.deepl.com
I was fixed reading through your work. You did well for not killing the pigeon, that would have resulted in animal cruelty. Meanwhile, we hope that one day the pigeon will return home.
Thank you so much for your comment @newbreed
We Saved Chocolate and I'm glad to hear she had a happy life.
Happy new year 2025
Your stories keep me interested till the end. The pigeon is lucky it was taken care of by someone who didn't kill it.
Thank you very much @marriot5464
I'm glad to hear you liked it. I think Chocolate had a happy life.
Happy new year 2025 ✨️
It is a lovely story, @popurri. You might want to read it over again an edit these two lines, which seem to be very similar:
Thank so much @theinkwell. I will review the text 🤗
Best wishes for the new year 2025 ✨️😘
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