For the Birds
Like a missile or a crashing plane, the pigeon dive-bombed my patio. I carefully crept to the sliding glass door and saw the gray bird stone still. I banged on the glass. Nothing. I sprayed it with water. Nothing. Was it dead? Did pigeons die with their eyes open? How does one get rid of a stone-still, possibly-living pigeon trapped on one’s patio? A calico cat tried to pounce, but I shooed it away. Not out of love but out of fear of blood and guts. Moments later, a blink. I couldn’t help but be disappointed that the pigeon was still alive. It complicated things. My friend came to the rescue (mine and the pigeon’s) and gathered the pigeon into a box. She set it atop a high bush outside.
With a hole pecked into its back, all signs pointed to a slow and painful death for the pigeon. And I was late to dinner.
The whole thing was for the birds.
