I was at first fascinated, flattered when the carrier pigeon kited down to the back of the wicker porch swing where I was sitting. He was wearing a metal band above his right claw with a tiny scrap of paper peeping out. Somebody had given up trying to reach me by phone and sent a message by carrier pigeon. He had to be hungry, I figured. Who knew how far he had flown. I went inside and got a cup of dry grits and fed him while I phoned an expert on such birds. "Whatever you do don't feed him grits," the man said. "Grits will kill him."
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