My housemate and I saw a pigeon sitting in the middle of the parking lot on our way out to dinner. For a moment,we thought it was dead but lo and behold, it was injured. The bird was lying on its side, barely moving. I saw what I assume is a gunshot wound through part of its neck. If we were to leave it there, it would surely be crushed by a passing car.
After a good ten minutes of flailing, I decided to pick it up. The last time I picked up a bird with feathers I was nine and the hummingbird was already dead. This was a live pigeon. I prodded it gently to see if it would freak out more than I would before I finally scooped it. It didn’t struggle. It was calm and quiet when I place it on a safer side of the road.
We went for dinner.
When we came back, it was dark and I frankly didn’t expect the bird to still be there. But it was and it was still alive. The injury to its neck must have missed major vessels or parts of the brain. It just sat there, blinking. We didn’t bring it back to the apartment. I mean, what would we feed it? What could we do for it? Keep it in a box? Wait for it to die?
I am going to check on that pigeon tomorrow morning. I don’t know if I expect it to be alive or dead. I don’t know if I want to find it still seated there. I just know thinking about it makes me sad.
God bless that pigeon.