A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Bins.

To start with, I can categorically state that I am not an animal lover! The fact that there is a bone almost as big as my lodger sitting on one of my best sheets in the middle of the living room doesn't tell you anything other than I am a very lackadaisical person. I would venture to say that for some I am maddeningly lackadaisical, luckily though they don't have to live with me but only put up with me in small doses - and vice versa.

On Tuesday I struggled into my entry (alleyway) with two heavy garbage bags. I noticed a smattering of white feathers laying on the ground and thought of the men during the war who received white feathers to indicate cowardice (I am reading a historical novel at the moment). Then I thought some cat has got lucky and some bird has gotten extremely unlucky. I carried the bags to the top of the entry because I don't think it is in the local bin mans' job description to come into entries or maybe it is a health and safety issue, maybe they may fall over fat cats lazing about after feasting on unlucky birds.

On my way back down the entry I startled the injured bird; don't get me wrong, it scared the bejesus out of me as it hobbled and flapped then sort of hopped and kinda flew into my back yard. I tried to stop it but I was just too late. Luckily though the kitchen door was shut tight. It is extremely unlucky for a bird to walk into your house all sorts of calamities await you if that happens - a country woman told me this so it must be true for they know all the best superstitions.

It huddled as close to the wall as it could possibly get and looked at me. You know that look? A pathetic, sorrowful and knowing look. The sort of look that we see from time to time but do not want to recognize. "Ohh what to do?" I thought. "Ohh no, not here" I said to it and scooped it up into a bucket as gently as I could and deposited it back out into the entry. Every household should have at least one bucket - and a few basins they're invaluable items. Very handy for all sorts of emergencies.

Some of my thoughts on coming in to have a coffee .. "it's a pigeon, a rat with wings! If it was a rat I'd have dropped a brick on its head! No I wouldn't! I'd have ran into the house squealing like a little girl and I'd have been shouting hysterically down the phone to my brother to bring me a big trap. Fat lot of good that would have done me for he isn't even in the country!" Pause ... "It is dieing though, it's back is all torn up, it's wing looks pretty bashed up and it's leg is mangled. The cat will probably come back and finish off the job. It's part of the nature of being a pigeon to get squashed by cars and tore asunder by things like cats. It's what happens to them"

After picturing it getting tore asunder I went back out to the entry and scooped it back up into the bucket and brought it back into my yard.

I played with the idea of bringing it down to my local vet but the thought of dandering down the road with an injured pigeon in a bucket was even beyond my eccentric ways. If I have any sort of reputation at all it would be totally demolished. They would be packing me off to the local lunatic asylum. Well, you don't try to save common pigeons - do you? No, if your going to save something it would have to be one of those more 'deserving' birds I guess. "It's dying" I thought. "Let it have a peaceful death." So I locked it in the shed with a little bread thinking. "It'll be dead in the morning."

Imagine my surprise the next morning when it hadn't died! The rubber gloves and plastic bags not needed. "You still with us?" (I have a habit of asking obvious questions). it was frightened and probably wondering why it wasn't dead yet so I went and got it some bread and milk and left it in the shed for another day. Next day I needed to reclaim my shed, I needed to get some laundry done so it skittered out into the yard, flapped, flapped then took off! "Yeh Hey!" I shouted after it, my good deed for the week. My feel good moment.

Sundays I like to break the routine up for the lodger by going somewhere different. We went to Whitehead we were away for at least four hours and when we got back it was almost that time of the day.. the gloaming. Before it got too dark I thought I'd do some domestic goddess type things starting with laundry. When I went out to the shed there was a shuffling sound. I jumped being easily frightened, looked down and guess who was back? It sat there quite calmly looking up at me. I quietly went about putting a wash on. It didn't come near me and I didn't go near it. "It's probably dying again" i thought. Well, I am not Doctor Doolittle, what do I know? I let it stay but I did tell it "You are a wild pigeon you don't have the homing gene".

Alive and hobbling this morning I chased it, this afternoon it is back. It is sitting out there and I am wondering are there any sanctuary's for common as muck street pigeons? I think it may have adopted me and I don't know the first thing about pigeons. Hope they don't carry bird flu.