How a young pigeon survived its ordeal, and was set free to enjoy its freedom to life!!! —By Wilfred A. Wilson

Shaping Your Story, Week One: What’s Your Angle?

A young pigeon which attempted to fly from a ceiling, but landed on the ground some 10 feet away survived its ordeal, when I cared for it and set it free to enjoy its freedom to life.

pigeonAt first I was not aware of the pigeon’s plight, but what caught my attention was when I went to the shed to pick up a mat, andsaw the bird walking and picking at whatever it could find to eat: and instead of fly away when it saw me, it ran to hide itself in a corner of the fence where there was a clump of shrubs. So I walked slowly up and caught it, but not before it ran into a patch of “Lemon Grass,” which I dry and boil to make tea at times. Subsequently I carefully opened the bird’s mouth and fed it with raw rice a little at a time, followed by drops of water after that process was finished. That being done I put the bird on the top end of a stick which it gripped firmly, and I raised it to the ceiling and to my joy the bird stepped onto a lath in the ceiling.

The next morning at about 7: 00 AM when the sun burst the clouds, I went outside by the shed and lo, and behold, I saw the same grey colored pigeon on the ground again, by this time, to me, it looked a stronger bird. It stood in front the shed’s door gazing all around making slanting head glances to pick up sounds I suppose. So I told myself that I am going to catch the bird once more at least, and I came up with a strategy there and then.

I walked towards the fence and, by taking two dragging steps at a time and pause, and so on; I reached the front of it, braced its wall with my back and slowly dragged myself down in a stooping position under the sunlit sky.

The bird’s feathers of various shades of grey blended with two streaks of white ones on each side of its wings were a sight to behold as they glittered in the sunlight, even as it stood 1.5 meters away from in front of the shed’s door.  The bird looked at me every now and then as I edged my way closer to the doorway without scaring it, and when I reached directly in front of the door, it looked at me and looked away twice, perhaps trying to figure out where to run to escape, but I stooped there motionless. Subsequently I did a frog walk, a slow forward stretching movement in a stooping position, and the bird ran for cover, but I caught it before it could hide itself. It was fun.

The bird felt as comfortable as possible as I fed it, you know. It ate the rice and drank the water well. I was satisfied with the way the bird responded generally: and I also had the feeling that it would be stronger the next day and might even attempt to fly.

Happily, on the third day I saw the bird outside of my front gate along with two others. It was in good company, I thought. And as it walked around on the concrete bridge with a sense of readiness to flit away, I knew that it was saying to me, “thanks and goodbye,” in bird language.  I stood still in my front door and saw when the bird flew away.