A fowler discovered the telltale white splashes of pigeon droppings on the ground beneath a tree and decided to lay a trap there. He spread his nets, scattered grain and then withdrew to watch and wait.

When the pigeons returned to the roost, they saw the scattered grain and were excited by the prospect of an easy supper, but one of them was more cautious. “Where has it come from?” she asked. “Grain doesn’t fall from trees. Something’s not right.” “Who cares? It’s a free meal,” the others replied and they fell upon the grain.

Not wanting to miss out, the doubtful pigeon flew down to join the feast, but no sooner had she landed than the fowler’s nets snapped shut. Terrified, the birds flapped and flustered, but to no avail. “I knew it was a trap! I told you! Why didn’t you listen to me?” the doubtful pigeon wailed. “Why didn’t you listen to yourself?” the others snapped back.

“What does that matter?” a young pigeon interjected. “We’ll never get out of this arguing amongst ourselves. There’s only one net, but dozens of us. Maybe if we work together, try to fly all at the same time, maybe we can pull the whole thing free and escape.”

But the fowler was already approaching. “It’s too late,” the birds cried when they saw him and then they flapped, all at the same time, with the same desperate, frenzied motion. And so, together, the pigeons thrust upwards, lifting both themselves and the net, pulling it from the ground.

The fowler rushed to grab the tethers, but caught beneath a hail of panicked faeces, he slipped and both birds and net rose out of his reach to safety—well, they rose as far as the upper branches of their roost where, still tangled up in the net, their recriminations resumed.

 Richard Parkin, 2024