*** I am trying to teach myself to write in the present tense, so please bear with me ***
Pigeons live a precarious existence in a modern city. Perhaps it was always thus. Young Henry is off on the race of his life! No matter which way his quarry twists and turns, Henry follows suit. Across the forecourt of the opera house he charges, oblivious to the iconic stature of his surrounds. All Henry has eyes for is a little blob of grey, with splayed feet, and a red beak. Not that Henry is at all interested in the pigeon. Not really. Henry is engrossed with his own ability.
He can run. He can swerve. He can jump. He can turnaround. And he can do much of this without even falling over. Oops ... sometimes he can do all these things without falling over. But ... when he does fall, watch Henry roll, watch Henry giggle, watch Henry tangle himself up in his own arms and legs.