Yep. That is me. The Pigeon Whisperer or the Rescuer of the Unloved and Unwanted. That works too. Let me share with you how I discovered my ability.
Early in the morning, I was enjoying my coffee and checking Facebook (yes, I am still drawn to that accursed place). I heard a big bang as if a picture fell off the wall upstairs. I thought that maybe a large book had fallen off one of the kids’ beds. They have been known to fall asleep with books on their beds and then they kick them off. The oldest comes downstairs about 30 minutes later and asked me if I had heard that loud bang.
I told him that I did and that I figured that it had come from his room. No, he told me, and he mentioned that he heard dirt falling after it happened. Hm. I continued drinking my coffee and didn’t give it another thought.
Later, Freckle Face was sitting on the couch and staring out the sliding glass door. “Mom! There is a pigeon sitting here just looking at me. I can see him blinking even. It is so cool!” And the great mom that I am said how nice that was and continued with whatever I was doing at the time.
About 20 minutes later Freckle Face comes to me again. “Mom, it is just amazing, blah blah blah blah blah blah….”
I told him that is so neat because, you know, I heard every word that he said. He continued on, “Yeah and blah blah blah, and his wing is stuck out like this!” and he crooks his arm into an unnatural pose.
“Wow, that is amazing..uh, wait. What did you say?”
“You know, the pigeon’s wing is like this.” And again with demonstration of the pigeon wing.
It dawned on me that the bang I heard earlier was the pigeon flying into the house. Now, I don’t mean into as in “inside”. I mean into as in slamming into the outside of my house.
I called my husband. I wanted to find out what to do with this pigeon that was pitifully hobbling around my backyard. He told me to call the vet. The vet told me to call the wildlife rescue people. I called them.
They wanted me to drive 90 minutes to bring this pigeon to them. Um. No. They told me that this pigeon most likely needed painkillers and a wing cast. Painkillers? Are you kidding me? It is a pigeon.
Wrong thing to say, people. It was the wrong thing to say.
They wanted to know if I could at least bring it to a vet that is much closer to my house. *sigh* Yes, I could do that. The woman now believed that I was heartless, so I needed to meet her halfway. “Great!” she says. “Put him in a box with no food or water.” Of course I needed to know if I was going to be financially responsible for this pigeon. I am trying to make my kids happy here, but I am not that generous. No, not financially responsible. Whew! Because I just may have had to say that he had miraculously recovered.
Now, I needed to catch the pigeon. We have the whole thing on video. Unfortunately, wordpress does not recognize my video format, and there is no way on earth I am downloading it to YouTube just so you can laugh at me. Let’s just say that I chased the pigeon around awhile, finally dropped a towel over the top of it and covered its eyes. That whole covering the eyes thing really does work. He didn’t struggle or anything. I put him in a box and closed the lid. Freckle Face was very concerned that I wasn’t poking air holes for the thing. The bird sat in my garage for three hours before I could get it to the vet.
The bird didn’t make a peep all the way to the vet. It was great. I just thought I would drop it off and be done with it, but they wanted my personal information. Again, I had to make sure that I wasn’t going to receive a bill in the mail for a $250 x-ray on a pigeon wing. Nope. It was just for the federal paperwork. Oh, great! Now, the feds know that I save pigeons. Great. I am probably in some database now. Lucky me.
On my way out, the friendly woman behind the desk told me that I could call and check on the pigeon of I wanted to. I must have made a face because then she said that I could just tell my kids that it was getting fixed. Yep, going with that one. And that, my friends, was my good deed for the day. Maybe even the month. The things we do for our kids.