It was in November of 1996 when this human stepped out of the west side church into the typically damp, chilly New York Fall afternoon. I had just finished playing a noon time recital. The church where I then worked was one of the few remaining in NYC to continue the once great tradition of noon time organ recitals. I walked down the stone steps of the church with my wife, Kimberly. I was thinking a lot about Bach and lunch when she pulled me out of my reverie with a cry of, "Honey, look at that pigeon!". "What... where?," was my half dazed reply. Then she pointed to her, huddled under the lip of the bottom most step, small and soaked and shivering. "Silly bird," I said, "You'll just get stepped on here," I picked up the unresisting rock dove, thinking that it would fly off my hand in pigeon like fashion. I tossed the poor bird lightly into the air only to see it flap helplessly and land on the side walk. An annoyed passerby kicked her out of the way. She landed in the street; the gutter as we used to call in in Queens. "Honey, do something," said Kimberly. Without thinking, I ran to grab the little bird out of the street and carried her back into the church, despite the (probably good natured) ridicule of one of my church colleagues (you know who are if your reading this!). So we dried off the pigeon and looked her over. She had no apparent injuries, but she could not fly. "You can't let her go if she won't fly," said Kimberly. An expensive taxi ride to an even more expensive Manhattan animal clinique saw us discussing a name for our new found friend. "Why does it need a name?" asked my colleague, who had come along for the ride. "They're going to ask us at the animal hospital," said Kimberly. "I don't know whether its male or female," I said, "I think well call it Feathers." "How original. If you two really need something to take care of, why don't you have kids?" replied my co-worker. Spoken like a Lutheran.
"Probably a concusion," said the vet. "With birds, they'll either recover from a head injury and eventually be O.K., or else they won't. I dont see any other problems. If you want, you can leave it here, we'll turn it over to our wild life department. If it recovers in a day or so it'll be released."
"What if it doesn't?" I asked.
"Oh... we'll destroy it then..."
"Isn't there a more proactive solution?" I asked.
"Of course, but it will cost..."
I didn't feel the pain in my wallet until later. The vet estimated Feathers to be about 6 months old, the verge of adulthood for a pigeon.
We took Feathers home, along with a plastic clinique card, and a pile of bills for consultation, shots, and antibiotics. (All NYC prices too). It was worth it though. A few days later she was flying and pecking at seeds. When I was convinced she would be alright, I took her to the church again. "Time for you to go home," I said, opening all the windows and doors so she could fly out."Go on... you know, born free...?"
Feathers looked at me, tilting her head slightly to one side. I picked her up and held her over the edge of the church balcony. She looked around and took flight from my hand. Flying over to one of the open windows and perching on the ledge, she looked outside, looked back towards the balcony and flew back up to the loft, alighting next to me on the organ bench where I was sitting. Again she looked at me with slightly tilted head, as if to say, "I may be a pigeon, but I'm no fool, heck its warm in here, I get free food, and I'm the only pigeon on the block who's got her own humans!".
I didn't need more convincing. We officially adopted Feathers. Soon she had her own room (which she shared with my books and some of my instruments), her own nest site (we found she was female when she started laying egges - no other way to tell without a DNA test), her own bath tub, and best of all, her own feeding station. She was a happy rock dove.
Over the next few months, I read a lot about birds in general and pigeons in particular. Before Feathers I had never considered myself a bird person. That changed right away. I found out that many birds can "bond" to humans in more or less the same way they bond to each other in the wild. This is part of the facination with parrots, mynah birds, ravens, falcons, and every other type of bird humans draw into their association. I have a theory that many other types of birds can bond to people as well if we give them a chance. I've herd stories of people who have geese, ducks, chickens, blue jays, crows, and of course pigeons, who are every bit as loyal and dedicated and consequentially demanding as any parrot, or dog for that matter.
Feathers shortly bonded to this human. She is tame and likes the company of other humans, but I am, for whatever reason, the chosen one. So like many parrot people, I took Feathers with me where ever I could. Any place that was safe and would tolerate pigeons, Feathers got to visit. That meant mostly churches. That bird has heard more organ music in the last two years than most people do in a life time. I began taking a "pigeon shirt" with me to wear over my regular clothing (for obvious reasons). When I practiced, Feathers would come with me to the church. She generally chose to fly around a bit first, and then perch on my shoulder. In the wild, pigeons who are bonded will often preen eachother. Feathers often preens my shaggy mane until it looks just right (usually so that I look like I have been strolling in hurricane to other humans). Later I discovered a wonderful company that produces "bird diapers", once Feathers got used to her "poop suits" she discovered that she was welcome in a lot more places.
We have yet to figure out whether Feathers considers herself human or me a pigeon. It may be the latter, as I have found that birds in general seem to have an affinity for me - I've been able to tame some pretty impossible ones, and the ones in need of help always find me.
Birds and little children - never have any problem with them, but that's another story.
to be continued... still working on this site. check back soon. 20. Jan.99
