Pigeon Toes

The pigeon approached me on the platform, moving at a slow pace. At first I thought he was just another city pigeon, asking for a handout, looking for some popcorn or a bit of a sandwich, and then I noticed he was listing a bit to the side, coming at an angle. Odd. My guard went up immediately. The Metro Rail stations aren’t the safest places in the city for reporters, especially on a sunny Sunday afternoon. You just never know.

I pulled my satchel a little closer and watched the pigeon as he neared. Then I saw it, the reason for his odd gait. He was one of them. He was missing the toes on his right foot. All he had at the end of his pigeon leg was a stump.

I needed a photograph. I reached for my bag. I never go anywhere without my camera. Just then the train pulled into the station and the pigeon flew away. I missed him. I boarded the train along with the rest of the waiting passengers and that’s when I noticed the man two rows up wearing a Houston Chronicle t-shirt. This was clearly a major story I’d stumbled onto. Damn! No photo. I pulled out my sketch pad and started to draw what I could remember of the little bird. A woman sitting next to me looked at my artwork and remarked, “I’ve seen a pigeon like that.”

I had a witness! Unfortunately she didn't want to reveal her identity. Something about government clearance or something like that, but she said she’d seen several pigeons with missing claws around town. She mentioned something about frostbite but the average temperature isn’t that low here. She then started talking about dim sum and conjectured that there isn’t that much meat on a pigeon foot as on a chicken foot. She went on to say that it could have something to do with voodoo, or natural medicine. She thought people might be wearing them around their necks for healing powers. Potentially they (pigeon toes) could be ground and fed to children to cure pigeon toes. With the downturn in the economy, and the obvious stalemate in Washington regarding healthcare reform, people might be taking matters into their own hands.

By this time I was getting a little nervous. I think I was sent over the edge when the conversation turned to the Godfather movies, the horse heads on the beds and the possibilities of using pigeon feet as warnings in gang or mob wars. She looked like she knew what she was talking about. Kind of like a MetroRail Cliff Clavin in a pashmina and crystal earrings.

We pulled into the Wheeler station. I bolted past her, slipping on a tube of toothpaste on the floor of the train and knocked over the Chronicle reporter on the way out of the car. As the train left the station I watched the voodoo queen watch me as I stood shaking on the platform. I was mesmerized. I didn’t move until I felt something warm hit my shoulder. Pigeon poop had dropped from the wires above. There is more to this story. I just know it.