© Bruce Goodman 4 July 2015
Hector had been a member of the local Pigeon Racing Society for just over thirty years. In that time he had won the Champion of Champions Pigeon Racing prize fifteen times. Each time he had been proudly presented with a regulator wall clock that chimed on the quarter hour and had a dove pop out like a cuckoo on the hour and coo.
What does one do with fifteen wall clocks? There were only seven rooms in his house. He’d given one each to his three children. His estranged wife had been bestowed with the noisiest one.
But fifteen wasn’t the total number. One year Hector was so tired of winning the Champion of Champions Pigeon Racing clock that he didn’t enter the competition. That was the year they made him a life member and gave him a clock.
Even though he thoroughly enjoyed pigeon racing, Hector desired no further clock. If he was to partake in pigeon racing, it would have to be competitively. He would be out to win. The only solution was to resign from the club.
He resigned. They gave him a…