History

The olden days {1979 – 1981}

I got interested pigeons, like many, during my “tweener” years. I remember my interest being sparked while looking at old pictures of my dad when he was a kid with his birds. He raised pheasants, chuckers, and of course pigeons. I was going through physical changes and in search of an identity. I was a goofy cotton topped kid with hair halfway down my back, wearing a fleece shirt and checkered bellbottoms. Most thought I would make a cuter looking girl. I played baseball, basketball, snow skied, and rode bikes, but the birds were what I was thinking about.

There was a local club in town in Farmington, NM headed by a man named Charles Smith and his partner Mr. Stan Carpenter. I went for a visit and was instantly hooked. They were working a team of about 100 young birds. They were circling the loft at a high rate of speed like racecars. They were being flagged so that they would stay in the air, round and round.  Mr. Carpenter dropped the flag shook a can and 100 birds hit the landing board and into the loft. That was the coolest thing.  They showed me their breeders and setup, but I was drawn to the young bird loft. That was where the action was.

I attended one of the meetings and met the rest of the club members. I remember going early so I could watch the young birds fly again.  I was thinking to myself that this was the strangest bunch of people that I had ever met. There was an old grouchy guy, and older lady, a kid that did not look like he had bathed for a few weeks, a guy in a tie, a real funny looking guy, etc, you know a pigeon club. Despite the resemblance to a circus and a reflection that I must have fit right in, I decided to join the club. I did not have birds, but that was soon to come.

With the help of my dad, we constructed an 8x6 loft with one solid side and three sides covered in chicken wire. The top was enclosed where we constructed perches. The floor was dirt and I placed logs and tree branches for the birds to roost on.  The loft was painted bright white and resembled something you would see at the zoo.  It was all topped off with a fiberglass roof. It was a bit too open, but began the foundation for my belief in an open and airy loft.  It was now time for some birds.

I made my way over to that beautiful loft where I watched those racy young birds. I wanted some of those. To my disappointment they did not have any squeakers for sale only old birds. I wanted a fly team, not sit around birds. They gave me a name of the funny looking guy and said that he probably had some birds.  We made our way over to the house and went into the back yard. The loft was a maze of chicken wire and boxes with no roof, dirt floor, and poop piled high. Not a place where I would recommend any of you purchasing birds from. But there they were young birds, and better yet banded young birds. They looked just like the ones in the book. I had to rescue them from this place. Six went home with me for $5.00 each. A red, a crazy splash, two blue bars, and two checks. I was told they were Sions.

Upon arrival, I noticed the splash bird was keeping to himself on the floor, while the others were finding their perches.  I caught the bird and put him on the top perch.  Down he came like a brick.  To my disappointment I was sold a flyingless bird, a sitter, a dog with wings.  But he was my favorite looking bird all white, red, and spotty, so I kept him.  The next few days was spent constructing a maze of ladders and perches to get the now named “Bomber” to the top perch. “Bomber” would take the stairs up and the elevator down.  All my friends thought I was a geek to have the birds, but they would come from miles around to watch bomber dive off the top perch. It was adolescent amusement at its finest.  It was a sad day when my dog, “Dog” ate the most famous Hill Family Loft bird “Bomber”.

I trap trained the other five along with two un-banded youngsters that one of the members had forgotten to band and gifted my way. The birds were too young to race as young birds, so I let them pair as they wanted and then ordered some wooden eggs to get them through the winter. In the spring they began breeding my 1980 young bird race team. “Bomber” chose the little red hen and claimed a nest. All “Bombers” youngsters could fly and along with the birds that I raised and a few that were given to me by members, I had a team of 23 young birds.

I went on to win two young bird races that season with a little hen “AU 80 V 6645” in the junior division of the club. There were three juniors, none with clocks. We had to call our birds in and then bring in the countermarks. She not only won the junior division, but also beat all the birds in the club. Needless to say, I soon had a clock on loan from the senior members.  They had a tough time getting beat by a first time junior member with reject birds that only loft flew his birds.

Birds were in my blood, but so were the girls. Soon my interest grew to other things and the birds and loft were sold. This seems to be the pathway that many of us take in our pigeon endeavors. Most of us, me included, also end up joining the sport later in life when we have the opportunity. Like most pigeoneers, I kept the bug inside of me throughout my late teens, twenties and thirties.

First Diploma