Just like every other morning, Willie drove his golf cart up the cart path toward the 1st tee just as the sun was rising. Since retirement, these best friends tee off almost every morning at first light. They finish their round before most people finish their first cup of coffee.

This splendid morning Dave had it going. He turned in 43 with a hot putter and a chip-in birdie on the tough 9th. The 22 handicap had a chance to break 90 for the first time in …. he could not remember when. On the 10th tee Willie began to razz Dave. “Don’t choke this round away like you did two weeks ago partner. I don’t mind losing five dollars to you for breaking 90. But no gimmes, for my hard-earned money, I want to see that ball go into the hole.’

Feeling the pressure, Dave hit a worm-raper that started down the middle then took an ugly turn right. His ball trickled into the water on the very last turn. “Aw s**t,” Dave screamed as he slammed his new PING driver into the turf.

Dave recovered with a fine 4-rescue to the front fringe then putted up to within 15 inches. Willie walked over to Dave’s ball, hesitated… then batted Dave’s ball back to him. “You are putting too good today to miss that one.”

“I will take a bogey on this hole any day. Especially with a water ball. If I can just play bogey golf I will shoot 88.”

Dave’s steady round continued with two-putt bogeys thru on 14. But the magic ended on the little par-3, over the water, 15th. His putter, near perfect all day, failed him when he three putted from four feet after a ball in the water, triple bogey 6.

“I told you not to count the money,” snickered Willie as Dave’s shoulders slumped.

As Dave’s day was turning from beautiful to horse s**t, Doc Smiley released his hand selected kit of Birmingham Roller Pigeons from their loft adjacent to the 17th green. Just like every other day for the past 50 years, Doc sent his beloved birds up for their morning fly. The 13-bird kit gained altitude in a tight cluster as they circled over the neighborhood and golf course. As Doc’s still keen eyesight followed, the kit made a brake, first one bird, others followed in copy-cat fashion, turning backwards somersaults repeatedly in rapid succession falling 50 feet or more.

Doc’s face broke into a huge grin, he can picture himself with the trophy, “This will be the year I win the NBRC (National Birmingham Roller Club) national championship. These birds are the best I have ever raised.”

“If you can play the next three holes in two over you can shoot 46 and break 90. And, win my money,” Willie encouraged Dave.

As he walks toward his truck to head for the chiropractic clinic Doc’s face turns upward as his pride and joy circle upward for another spontaneous brake. He knows that when they tire, in 10 to 15 minutes, they will come back into their loft where their feed awaits.

As Doc stood in his familiar wide-legged stance head tilted back admiring the fruits of his pigeon breeder’s labor, Dave was making a mess of 16, the easiest hole on the course. Another choking double. “Well now the heat is really on, you need par on the next two to break 90. I hate losing money, but I am pulling for you buddy.”

As Willie was driving to Dave’s ball in the right rough on #17, he said, “Hey Dave there are Old Doc’s birds again. The guys at Rotary were saying those rollers pigeons of his are some of the best. He has been raising rollers and judging at national events for years. They were saying that those rollers are bred to turn back flips. They are judged on how many in the flock roll at a time and how far or deep they roll. Some even crash into roof tops or the ground. Some crashes are fatal”

“Yea I have seen them flip a few times but never thought much about it,” Dave admitted. “Perfect lie for my 7-wood. Might even reach the green.”

At impact Willie shouted, “Now roll you SOB!” They watched Dave’s ball climb the false front onto the green about 30 feet short of the flagstick. “A two-putt and a par on 18 and this $5 in my pocket is yours.”

As Dave started his takeaway on the tough uphill putt with a quick left break, a rust-colored pigeon crashed to the manicured turf directly in his line.

Dave jumped as Willie said, “Well I’ll be damned, just like they were talking at Rotary. That damn bird committed suicide doing what it was bred to do.”

“I not sure it’s dead, it blinked its eyes and it just twitched. What shall we do?”

Willie thought for a minute then pointed, “Let’s take him over to Doc’s yard and lay him inside the fence. Die or get better, either way Old Doc will know what happened to that bird he loves.”

Back on the green Willie laughed, “You already got the birdie, now knock this putt in.” The putt crested the hill turned hard left into the center of the cup.

Dave’s regulation, a two-putt, par on 18 had Willie reaching for his wallet. As Willie handed the $5 bill to Dave he said, “Nice 89 my friend, you got Old Doc’s bird to thank for that.”

With a distant look on his face Dave said, “You are right. I was thinking about that damn bird and not my score. Next time I see Doc, I will ask him if that bird that helped me break 90 made it.”