William and the Pigeon

Woke up way late this morning and took the train to work. Came home, changed, and headed to where the I'd left the pigeons. In my bag was a small wicker basket, a hammer, some nails, picture wire, trail mix, and hay.

I went to the spot where I'd left the birds. Not a sign of them. I checked under cars to make sure they weren't hiding; I looked under bushes. Nothing.

Turning back, I saw a young bird sitting under the bridge, in the same spot where the older bird had been sitting the night before. I suspected it had found its way back to where it had fallen, wanting to be near where it had fallen from. The other bird had vanished.

I looked at the bridge supports, which were hollow columns of metal open on each side. I decided to jam the basket high into this and put the bird in there. As I was looking, a man came by, saw the bird, and offered to help. The ground was caked with bird droppings, and the columns weren't to clean, either. Above us, a row of pigeons looked on silently.

I pulled myself up on the column and jammed the basket into the column, then the man and I managed to corral the bird by moving all around the sidewalk, following the flapping, dodging creature. I finally caught it and with it in one hand swung back up and put it in the basket, then added a handful of trail mix. The bird looked out, puzzled. But it stayed and for the time being was sort of safe. It looked like it would be flying within a few days.

The man, who had exhibited the kind of hungry fascination that I inspire in creepy men, asked me my name. I gave a false one. His name was William, and of course he shook my hand. I gave him some hand sanitizer, taking some myself, and explained he should sanitize his hands if he touched the bird. Then I thanked him for his help as I rapidly packed my bike bag and got my bike ready. He told me I was very pretty. I thanked him, said I had shopping to do, thanked him for his help with the bird, and got on my bike. He told me he'd check on it. I thanked him for his kindness, and made my getaway.

Jeepers.