Once upon a time, not too long ago on a balcony far, far away. There came a bonk and squizzle-squizzle sound outside. The party stopped and we all went outside to see what had happened. — A pigeon had tried to crash the party. Everyone wanted something to be done but no one wanted to touch the animal. I just extended a finger in front of the beast and it stepped onto it. I stood up with the bird and saw it had rings on its legs. This meant that someone owned it…a duivenmelker, as they call such a person here. My Bride and I suggested the party's host give it some water and seeds if they had any. They were unsure about leaving the bird on the balcony overnight, but we promised that we would come and take it away the next day if it was still there. Well, the pigeon refused to leave so we were summoned and reminded of the promise made the preceding night. Why didn’t that postduif leave once it was light? The answer to that one was to be found on the rings…albeit indirectly. The keepers of doves, like beekeepers have a national organisation. The codes on the leg band were indicators of an owner and their location. We recorded those for contact later, but first we had to drive out to the lottie and create some sort of accommodation for the little traveller. We really did not have an inspiring collection of extra materials lying about from which we could make a residence. Then our eyes fell upon two crates we use to take fruit and veg to the Food Bank. Perfect. An old (but clean) newspaper to line the bottom with. A length of pruned-off bush branch for a perch. Containers with water and seeds. It was time to take “Wrong-way Willy” out of the transport shoebox and see what he would think. In he goes, will he try and escape? The answer was obviously, “No”. Right then, accommodations sorted. Two crates (one inverted) on top of each other. By this time we were feeling pretty proud with ourselves. We even thought to tie some wire mesh around the crates to keep out rats, mice or hermine. Yes, we were well chuffed. Now then, time for investigation. A few calls and we reached a chap in Zwolle. The records showed that the pigeon was registered to him. What a likeable chap he was. He was interested in what had happened. Then came the monkey out of the sleeve: He no longer owned the bird. He had given his daughter permission to give that postduif to a young aspiring lad entering the world of the dove-keepers. The young lad lived in Hilversum. He sounded a bit irritated that the child or his parents had not re-registered the dove as they were supposed to have done, but ach— the innocence of youth. He could not be angry. So then, the bird was not from him, and he had no addy or fone number. The next question was, “ What should we do next”? He explained that it was the sort of pigeon that people keep, feed and exercise and sometimes take far away, let them go and see how long it takes for them to get back home. He suggested that the young bird had somehow gotten mixed-up with another flock whilst on an exercise flight and now was exhausted, hungry, thirsty and a bit disoriented. His advice was (if we could) keep it, feed and water it and then release it after four days. That was clear. We did all that, cleaning the tiny house, refreshed the seeds and water every evening. BTW, I could feel strength coming back in his wings and in his foot grip as I lifted him in and out of his crates. We went out to the lottie on the fourth day, but it was heavily overcast and raining in the morning. We wanted to release it in the morning so that he could have a whole day to get back home. Well, around noon, it was so far— we went over to the crate, I removed the lid and turned to set the upper crate down and the dove shot up and away, just like that! No goodbyes or thank you’s. He was like in Margaret Mitchell’s words, gone with the wind. All we were left with was a dirty crate— stank voor dank. (Stink for thanks). To round this interesting adventure off, we called the old keeper to let him know the disposition. He thanked us.
What a lovely, heartening narrative! That dove was one lucky bird to encounter you and your bride. On behalf of all our feathered friends, thank you!
What a story and happy encounter for a bird to happen upon you to treat with such reverence and kindness.
I love your story of the wayward Pidgeon! It was very kind of you to make accommodations for him/her (as the case may be) And you did a great job of improvising the perfect shelter. That is a thing I know Bob and I would do too. We've always been ready to help out a stray dog, cat or bird! I sure hope the bird arrived back home safe. who knows? Maybe it will cruise by some day to say hello
Great Kay. I know you guys would too. You are such a warm and thoughtful person with a big heart. Thanks for liking the posting.
We have a blue herring they are the hunters near by us with a huge nest in a tree near the creek . They have stolen fish from our pond. They are huge, scary and yet very admirable to watch them fly with so much grace and versatility . Always scare me by swooshing up out of their nest flapping their wings when walking by the creek . Then of course lots of quail . Also lots of mourning doves and pigeons that hang out . They do make a lot of noise when I walk out. Not to mention the surprise bombs left everywhere. It’s only for a couple months , I think we are in a traffic pattern used when flying south down the western coast of the US for the winter. We also seem to be a stop over for ducks and geese as they fly up and down the west coast for spring and summer. Blackbirds-crows ? and other birds that come and go. Sometimes they are very noisy at dawn right next to my window. Hawks , seem to live up in one single 100’ Douglas fir tree for many generations. Lot’s of smaller birds fly thru always stop at the small pond bird bath and the forever bullies huge bluejays always attacking the smaller birds.
Clay once animals zero in on fish it.s impossible to protect the fish. Even raccoons . It’s funny how attached we were after 10 years having the same fish they grew so fast and always took feed out of my hand.
