1 . Kathleen Rooney knew that writing Cher Ami and Major Whittlesey, from the point of view of a pigeon, was a risk. Rooney, perhaps best known for her 2017 bestseller, Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk, says her interest in a feathered narrator was excited by one of her students at DePaul University, where she is an English professor. “A student named Brian mentioned Cher Ami in a poem. It blew my mind that this pigeon was so heroic and is stuffed and on display in the Smithsonian National Museum of American History.”
Rooney learned that Cher Ami, a British homing pigeon, helped save a group of American troops during a horrific, multi-day World War I battle. The story of this amazing pigeon and the extraordinary man who commanded the battle, Major Charles Whittlesey, was altogether attractive.
In Cher Ami and Major Whittlesey, Charles reflects on his happier prewar days in New York City, where he ran a law firm with a college classmate. When it came time for battle, though, he and his fellows found themselves cut off from supply lines, surrounded by enemy German troops.
Carrier pigeons were the group’s only hope of contacting headquarters and getting the other Americans to stop dropping bombs on them. Cher Ami flew through gunfire to deliver Charles' message, which finally stopped the attack. She lost an eye and a leg, among other wounds, but was eventually able to hobble (蹒跚) on a tiny wooden prosthesis (义肢) that the Army made for her. She lived another year before dying of her injuries in 1919, but in the novel she continues speaking to readers behind glass in the Smithsonian where she’s been since her death.
There’s an interesting lesson to be learned from Charles’ decisions in the battle, too. “He was famous for something we’d describe as passive,” Rooney says. “Once they were in the pocket, he waited as long as he could. I’m an impatient, active person ... His act was stillness, waiting, keeping everybody’s spirits up. The way he did that was amazing.”
Rooney also hopes the book, with its portrayal of the charming and brave Cher Ami, will boost the appreciation of our furry and feathered friends.
1. What inspired Rooney to write the book?| A．Visiting a national museum. | B．Reading a student’s poem. |
| C．Some comments on her bestseller. | D．Experiences of raising pigeons. |
| A．An exhibition featuring a heroic battle. |
| B．Historic events happening to Cher Ami. |
| C．Americans’ poor strategies during the war. |
| D．Charles’ methods for training Cher Ami. |
| A．Charles’ humor and optimism. |
| B．Charles’ affection for carrier pigeons. |
| C．Charles’ patience and motivation. |
| D．Charles’ quick response to the attack. |
| A．A message of hope | B．Braving World War I |
| C．An effort to protect pigeons | D．Finding the lost commander |
Wind whistled round the corner of the house, thunder rolled and rain beat against the windows — not a night to be outside but rather to sit by the fire. Thanks to the solid walls and roof overhead, I could imagine Dr. Frankenstein's frightening creation wandering on such a night. I was alone, my husband away and the nearest neighbor a quarter miles down the road. Alone, that is, except for Lassie, a hairy, black and white dog, who sat with her head on my lap, her intelligent, brown eyes gazing up at me as if to say, don't worry, we'll be all right.
Through the years she was with us, she proved time and time again to be a superb judge of character. We never knew if it was a result of her sense of smell or sound-but, whatever it was, she definitely possessed a talent we humans lacked. On first meeting she would either wag the tip of her tail a couple of times to indicate that the visitor was acceptable, or slightly curl her top lip, exposing her sharp teeth which told you to be alert. Always accurate, her gift was never more obvious than on this night.
The doorbell rang. I decided not to answer it. It rang again, much longer this time. Whoever was there was not going away. Still I hesitated. On the fourth ring, with Lassie by my side, I finally answered the door. My heart beat fast and my mouth went dry, for there, stood the monster himself. A twisted body under a heavy overcoat, one shoulder bumped higher than the other and his head leaned slightly forward and to one side.
“May I use your phone?” The voice came from somewhere back in his throat and, although the request was polite, his tone was rude.
Reaching in his pocket and producing a piece of paper, he handed it to me. I refused to take it. Believing he might try and force his way in, I looked at Lassie to see if she was ready to defend the home.
Surprisingly, she sat by my side, the tip of her tail wagging.
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