Hooray for soft gits! Gf has reminded me about a story she was told by an old chap who brought her a pigeon. It had fallen down his chimney and burnt his tail feathers off so was immediately named Peter Singe. This chap had been bomber aircrew in WWII and told gf that the crews all had a soft spot for pigeons because each plane carried one. It could fly home to the station carrying their last known position on a piece of paper, if the crew had to ditch without transmitting that information. He had a bit of a tear in his eye as he recalled the way the birds suffered while stowed in unpressurised, freezing cold, noisy old crates.