Stepping off the curb, mid block, with peonies in hand I glanced down. Two eyes were looking up at me. Startled. Me, not it. A lone pigeon, tight up against the curb, between a BMV and a Lexus. At first I just stood there looking down. Knowing I had to do something, hoping it wouldn’t be as bad as it probably was given that the pigeon was not moving. I stood motionless, wishing it would take care of itself. In my best cooing voice while switching the peonies to the other hand, I reached down to pick up the bird. Trying to position my hand far enough along it’s back that it wouldn’t peck me, while praying it wouldn’t peck me. I placed it on the sidewalk. It fluttered first the right wing, then the left, neither of which worked very well. It fluttered along for about 12 inches then stopped. It stood on it’s right leg, holding it’s left leg in the air. It had my complete sympathy. I could relate. Knowing I couldn’t leave it there, and now leaning on the BMW I placed it a few feet further along, under a tree in the light dirt. I was aware of someone else. I looked up and the owner of the BMW was indulging me while waiting to get to his driver’s side door. I watched him navigate along the bird. As I watched, I realized he didn’t step on it, because he saw me place it there. The next driver would step and crunch it under foot. I waited until he passed. Then I picked the bird up and placed him on the south side where there is no foot traffic and no car traffic. The weeds were high and protective and I hid him between the tree trunk and the feathery weed stalks. I took my flowers home.
As soon as I set the flowers in the sink, I telephoned the veterinarian down the street. I asked the pleasant young man who answered the phone, if they would take the pigeon if I brought it in a shoebox? If unable to help it would they put it out of it’s supposed pain? Yes to everything. An Anne Klein box never had a nobler purpose. I returned to the hidden bird, and again in my best coo-voice picked him up and added him to the sprig of weed I had already put in the shoe box. With the lid a ajar, I carefully carried the pigeon to the vet’s office. The young man was completely in tune with my idea. He took it in, vowing to do the best for the bird. No heroics. Just a quick end if that was the best. This is exactly how I want it to be for me too. Maybe I can get myself to a vet when the time comes. I know a couple of compassionate ones.