Coo ma, it’s the Pigeon Mothers of Cooma

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Feral Rock Dove

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We didn’t know what Cooma could provide at the late hour we arrived.  Our bellies were all berried out, and seemed to have been racing to rumble the roarest more than our legs had been spinning to speed the slickest. But our hopes rose at the Cooma city limits, as we were met by a pigeon in a pinny.

Pigeon Mothers of Cooma

She welcoomed us to Cooma, and cooed that her name was Patricia; one of the many pigeon mothers of Cooma.  However, she had been named after her grandmother, who was a member of the Partridge Family.

She said they’d heard we were on our way from the pigeons in Coorow, who’d carried a literary nonsense message about us across Australia; which had now turned out to not be literary nonsense at all.

When Literary Nonsense is not Literary Nonsense

They knew the Coorow pigeons often indulged in literary nonsense which sometimes turned out to not be literary nonsense, so they’d prepared a big meal for us at the Cooma canteen.

It had gone cold a few times, as we’d taken longer than expected, but they were heating it up again now.

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