My next pet was a pigeon, the most revolting bird to look at, with
his feathers pushing through the
wrinkled scarlet skin, mixed with
the horrible yellow down that covers
baby pigeons and makes them look
as though they have been peroxiding
their hair. Because of his repulsive
and obese appearance, we called
him Quasimodo. Since he had an
unorthodox upbringing, without
parents to teach him, Quasimodo
became convinced that he was not
a bird at all, and refused to fly. He
walked everywhere. He was always
eager to join us in anything we did. He
would even try to come for walks with
us. So you had to either carry him
on your shoulder, which was risking
an accident to your clothes, or else
you let him walk behind. If you let
him walk, then you had to slow down
your own pace to suit his, for should
you get too far ahead you would hear
the most frantic and imploring coos
and turn around to find Quasimodo
running desperately after you.​