I always longed to own some, but now the illusion is past.

They have been admired and petted for ages, consecrated as emblems of innocence and peace and sanctity, regarded as almost sacred from the earliest antiquity.

They have been idealized and praised from Noah to Anacreon, both inclined to inebriety! But in reality they are a dirty, destructive, greedy lot, and though fanciers sell them at high prices, they only command twenty-five cents per pair when sold for the market! The hens lost half their feathers, often an eye, occasionally a life, in deadly feuds.

My spunky little bantam game cock was always challenging one of my monster roosters and laying him low, so he had to be sent away.
John, my eccentric assistant, could abide no possible rival, insulted every man engaged to help him, occasionally indulging in a free fight after too frequent visits to the cider barrels of my next neighbor, so he had to follow the bantam.
Another distress was the constant calls of natives with the most undesirable things for me to buy; two or three calls daily for a long time.

Boys with eager, ingenuous faces bringing carrier pigeons--pretty creatures--and I had been told there was money in pigeons.