(image via birding.in)
Gooooood Morning SuperForest,
Yesterday was an exciting day. SuperForester Baloo and I found a young pigeon laying the street with a broken wing. We brought him home, cleaned him up, and promptly named him Tyrone.
The latter half of yesterday was spent fussing over Tyrone. He was filthy when I brought him inside, and bleeding from a gash on his back. As he was cold and wet, I wrapped him in towel and put him in a baking dish on top of the toaster, to gradually warm him back up. I gave him an hour or so to catch his breath, and then Tyrone had a gentle bath. I cleaned his poor back, and washed a good deal of the street slime off of him. He was in a proper state when I first saw him! At first glance, I thought he was a crumpled bit of newsprint. After his bath, he looked much better.
Here’s Tyrone, having just come inside. He looks a wreck.
I dried him off, put antibiotic ointment on his cut, and wrapped him in a dry kitchen towel. I cut up a pair of my socks to make a pigeon sling, so as to better immobilize his broken wing, and to keep him warm. Then I put him back in his little baking dish on top of the toaster.
Sock slings. Pretty!
I went out for a few hours to see a friend’s band, leaving SuperForester Baloo in charge of caring for our wounded comrade. I got home around midnight, checked Tyrone (who was sleeping peacefully,) and then went to bed, setting my alarm to go off at 9AM so I could check on homeboy.
I woke up before my alarm went off, feeling that something was wrong. Before I’d gone to sleep, I’d moved Tyrone into the bathroom nearest my bed, so if he got up I could hear him. But the bathroom is colder than the kitchen and I didn’t want him to catch a chill, so I left him atop the toaster, wrapped in his sock and warm towels.
I walked out of my bedroom to find poor Tyrone laying face up on my living room floor! Somehow, he’d gotten out of his special protective sock, and out of the baking dish, where he flopped onto the stove, then onto the floor, and then did an epic crawl to the living room. He left a stream of pigeon poo the entire way.
So my morning began with a rush of guilt and shame for neglecting this poor bird, and then a mad dash to pick him up, clean him off, get him comfortable again, while simultaneously cleaning and disinfecting my kitchen, and holding a hungry and curious chihuahua at bay the whole time. What a rush! Who needs coffee when you’ve got excitement like that?
ME, that’s who.
I spent the morning on the phone with various bird rescue organizations. A nice man named Al taught me how to feed Mr. T and the internet taught me how to bandage his wing. After his epic, Frodo-like journey out of my kitchen last night, I think Tyrone could use some sleep.
He’s napping now. In an hour or two, I’m going to feed him a bit more and bandage him up better, and if he’s up for it, I’ll snap a picture of his avian self.
Yesterday, when I first saw Tyrone helplessly laying in the street, my first instinct was to kill him. I know that seems cold-blooded, but he was seriously messed up. He was so retched looking that death seemed like a pretty decent option. I had noticed him and I felt that I owed him something. A quick release from his suffering seemed merciful. I obviously didn’t do it. I guess yesterday was a day for life to win out over death, at least in this one small way. So, yeah, my first thought was: Put him out of his misery.
But this morning, after having fussed over him and named him, to see him laying on my floor, confused and hurt and alone, well, it took my little heart and broke it into sparkle dust.
For better or worse, Mr. T, I’ll stay by you and try my best to help you mend. You are family now, homes.
Boy, the places you find yourself… lol. Never in my wildest would I expect to find myself sitting on the sofa in my underwear, feeding wet dog food (Al’s suggestion) to a wounded pigeon at 9 AM on a Saturday. I’m going to give Tyrone a few days to recuperate and then bring him out to one of the bird shelters in Brooklyn. SuperForesters, if we could all concentrate and send him good thoughts, I’m sure it will help him mend.
Love to All,
Jackson
(image via flickr user RobertGrove)
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