In A Pickle

Well. Tuesday was A Day.

11:40, the receptionist comes to tell me there's a pigeon on the sidewalk that doesn't look well. I, being the bleeding heart animal lover I am, go to investigate. There is, in fact, a pigeon on the sidewalk. It's sitting. It's not moving a whole lot. I send the receptionist back indoors for a box, and proceed to make friends with the pigeon. The pigeon isn't exactly in a hurry to get away from me, which I decide is either a good sign or the result of a bump on the noggin. Regardless, the pigeon is happy enough to sit with me and listen to me talk sweetly at it. The receptionist shows back up with the box. I had had the presence of mind to grab my sweater in case I had to perform the tried-and-true 'animal burrito' technique to apprehend our little feathered pal. My first attempts at herding the pigeon into the box were less than successful. We took a stroll across the road, and finally I had to be a bit more aggressive in my herding techniques, but eventually, the pigeon was in the box and my sweater was over the top, preventing any last-ditch efforts at escape. It was clear from this interlude that flying wasn't going to happen, so I was reasonably confident in the pigeon's ability to stay contained in the box without too much effort in fortification by me.

11:50, the pigeon in the box is brought into the office, and my sweater is replaced with a few rag towels we keep around for cleaning. The co-worker who is deathly afraid of birds is told that she does not want to know what is in the box, and is satisfied to remain in the dark. The box with the pigeon is relegated to a spot under my desk.

12:30, lunch time. I take the box with the pigeon in it to the Lindsay wildlife hospital. They see that the pigeon is banded, and therefore they can't take it. A banded pigeon indicates that it is domesticated in some description--a pet, or a homing pigeon, or a racing pigeon. They can only take wild animals. The pigeon, in its box, goes back into the car. 

1:00, since the parking is underground, the boxed pigeon stays in the car, and I go back to work.

2:45, the pigeon is checked on, and has settled comfortably onto a cozy towel. The county animal shelter is called and consulted, and I am told that animal services will call me back.

3:20, animal services calls and gives me instructions regarding dropping the pigeon off.

4:10, the pigeon is checked on, handled, and its bands are photographed so I can try to look up its provenance.  

4:30, I leave the office and a couple of land speed records and a few more traffic laws (Shh!) and take the pigeon to the county shelter, where he is taken in for observation and possible treatment.

At some point in the interim, I may or may not have named the pigeon 'Pickle'. I may or may not have gotten attached.

...I may or may not have gotten a bit verklempt when I left him with animal services...

But how could you not love that little face?!

I'll give updates if and when I have any. They said I could call tomorrow (Wednesday) at 8 to check in on him.

WEDNESDAY PM UPDATE: Is the same as was the Wednesday AM and NOON updates. Pickle sustained some sort of head trauma, and is having neurological difficulties--trouble balancing etc. No flying. They are giving him fluids and antibiotics and waiting it out. He's hanging around for the time being. Animal services were unable to locate his owner, but did contact the racing union on his band. If no one claims him, and he pulls through, he'll likely go to a rescue or be adopted out.

Yes, I did call three times today. Yes, I'm a little attached. So sue me.