I
walked—treat bag in my hand—past the back of the big red barn, heading to the
horses in pasture to give them said treats. Next to the big red barn I passed
an empty paddock, one waiting for its evening guest to arrive after
temperatures cooled and shade moved into the area.
Well,
I thought it empty.
Next
to the wall of the barn sat a couple of buckets and a large tub full of water
for drinking by the horses. In the first bucket by the fence something moved….splash,
flap, nothing, splash, splash!! Flap!! Nothing….
Great.
At
this time of day, all the camp children had gone home, as had their counselors.
I looked around. Yep. I’m alone.
Splash!!
Flap!
Hesitantly,
I stepped over towards the fence, j-u-s-t close enough to see inside the bucket
where drops of water flew in all directions, until they didn’t. Then they did
again. There, floating around, little
head tilted one way, then the other, seemingly rested a…….pigeon?
I
looked away, then glanced back down. Yep. Pigeon. He looked up at me, tipping
his little head left, right, left right. “Are you all right?” I asked.
Yes,
I really asked the bird that question. Fortunately for me, I didn’t hear him
answer.
Maybe,
I thought, he just wants to cool off or take a bath or…… Well, it couldn’t hurt
to let him be for a few minutes. I walked on down to the horses, gave them
their treats, and returned, strongly hoping the bird had flown the bucket, so
to speak.
No
such luck. Now what?
I
studied the little guy a minute, and decided he must have hurt his wing…who knows how? I think
he could have tried all night and not gotten out. Though I don’t like pigeons
as a general principle, how could I just leave him there, bobbing around, no
way out, no defense. A line of four, or so, birds watched from the electric
lines above me, no doubt judging my actions. Wonderful. I feel judged by literal birdbrains. I looked at little Birdie-boy. “Wait here; I’ll be right back.”
I
thought he nodded his pint-sized head, and I walked around to the big red barn,
opened the sliding door, and slipped in. Pigeons flew around (they love it
there), and I looked at tools leaning against the wall. Ahhh….a rake, like a
leaf rake, but with straight tines. Grabbing it, I made my way back to the
bucket. Birdie still bobbed around, watching me. Softly, I slipped the rake
into the large bucket and under his feathery body.
To
my shock, he settled onto the rake, letting me lift him from the water. As
gently as I could, I walked with him on the rake, heading towards that barn. Maybe
he knew I came with help; they do train these birds to deliver messages over
hundreds of miles, after all. After a bit, I guess his trust ran out, and he
hopped off the rake, though as we were close to the ground, it didn’t hurt him
seemingly. He didn’t even try to fly, reinforcing my fear of his broken wing.
But he walked the five feet or so to the corner of the barn and slipped into
some opening I could not see.
I
did not push the big door shut, because I feared crushing the little guy, since
I couldn’t see him. Once Tripp got back to pasture and all the tack got put
into its proper place, I stuck my head into the door of the big red barn. In
the rafters above I heard a lone pigeon cooing; as I looked around the floor, I
did not see the little rescued bird.
I
left a note for the barn caretakers (“I think there’s a pigeon with a broken
wing”), said a little prayer for the bird, and left.
Nature’s
tough. I have no idea if he will be okay in the barn till he can heal, or if,
healed, he could fly again. He didn’t seem in pain, though, truly, how would I know?
But, for sure, left in the bucket he would not have lasted long….maybe drowned,
maybe the dogs that periodically come through would have gotten him. Now, at
least, he rests inside a corner of his barn…..and, big, red, and all, that barn
is where he headed as soon as he had a chance.
Rest
well, little guy. I hope you beat the odds.
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