A few months ago my daughter sent me a photo while I was away from home for the weekend. I opened up the file to find her and her friends sitting on the grass. The caption she sent with the photo said ‘look closely’. There beside her, laying on the grass calmly and contently, was a pigeon. I knew straight away why my daughter would have sent me this photo in particular. Most people who know me well understand I do not usually have time for birds. In fact, they scare me in a way that reaches my primal core. It scares me how much birds scare me, let’s put it that way.  My daughter was teasing me.

A few minutes later I received a text message from her saying ‘we have a new pet. Can you guess what it is?’

Upon my return I learnt all about our new family pet, how Mika had found her injured out in the yard, how she rallied to call for help and nursed her for two days. By the time I had arrived on the scene the pigeon was a little better for wear, her strength somewhat grounded again while she attempted to fly. She stayed on our deck for days, enjoying her safe haven our kids had created enabling her to access food and water at her leisure. Each day I found myself checking on our pigeon in the morning, to see if the kids had remembered to leave her food and water. One day I came home and it wasn’t more than a few minutes later that I realised our pet had vanished. Suddenly I felt panicked. What could have happened? Had she been re-injured, killed by another animal, taken? How did she manage to get away?  It was at that moment I learned something new about myself: it was possible for me to care about a bird. Was it possible I had begun caring about a bird? Yes indeed.

A few more weeks went by and our pigeon returned at her leisure. She made it clear she wasn’t interested in her cage or anything that would try and entrap her for that matter. And then one September day our resident magpie returned to the scene to reclaim her territory. She eyed off the pigeon and began squawking. I watched in dismay, full of fear and anger I did not know what to do with. With one deep scoop the magpie had scared the pigeon out of her whits and right away from our garden. She stayed away for days that time. We noticed her returning, cautiously and briefly at first, then gradually more frequently. Until one day it was safe to admit our pigeon had returned. Bits of stale bread peppered the grass once more. And then yesterday happened…

My partner went for a jog around our block. As he turned the corner of our street he noticed some birds, mainly magpies, seemingly fighting with something on the ground. It would have been towards the side of our property.  As he approached he realised it was our poor pigeon caught in the fight. He immediately shooed the magpies away and grabbed the injured bird. He brought her home and the kids hurried to set up the cage in the garage one more time. They fetched her water and food. She was mostly silent with her eyes wide open. There she sat, staring out at us. I found myself talking to her. Yes, me talking to a bird, telling her I hoped she would be okay. This morning when we woke up she was dead. On her back, peaceful, alone and gone from this world.

‘How did you know it was the same bird?’ people asked us? We just knew.

I would never have expected to have had a pigeon for a pet. Nor would I have ever expected to have felt sadness the way I feel it now at the sight of a pigeon laying dead. It has been a lesson in kindness, compassion and love for our whole family. If I can find a place for a pigeon in my heart anything is possible.

We will miss you dear pigeon. We gave you a dignified ending at least.