It
was 20 years ago... a blustery spring in Tempe, AZ, and I suppose it was inevitable that at least
one baby pigeon would be blown from its date palm nest high above our yard. I found a baby, called someone who called
someone, and the bird was safely delivered to a wildlife "nursery." But when a second baby fell from the same nest
a few windy days later, the nursery was full, so I decided to try and save it
myself. I knew nothing about baby
pigeons, but with the advise of an experienced friend, the adventure began.
You
know all those pictures with the tiny adorable baby birds holding their little
beaks wide open while mommy drops in a worm?
Simple, right? Well, first of
all, baby pigeons start out big and bald and not very adorable. Secondly, baby pigeons don't open their
mouths to receive food... they stick their little beaks inside momma's big beak
and slurp the food out like a straw. So
here I was with this strange looking creature, chirping frantically for food,
and me not knowing how to feed it. Then
I had an idea. Why not take a sports
bottle, make the hole in the cap a little bigger, and fill the bottle with thin
oatmeal? I had to take little
"Peepers" (named for his incessant "peep, peep, peeping")
and force his beak inside the cap of the bottle, and naturally, he fought me at first. But eventually we noted
less of the gooey oatmeal on his chest, which meant some was actually going
inside Peepers' little pigeon stomach.
This was also evidenced by the multiple biological "gifts" that
Peepers left in his box. (If you live
anywhere near where pigeons hang out, you know that irregularity is never an
issue for them.) The process of
feeding our new baby was eventually mastered, and not only did I learn about pigeon nutrition, but I
also learned that oatmeal, when hardened, has cement-like qualities and can
only be removed with a jack-hammer.
Although
I am a great animal lover, I had blindly accepted the stereotype that pigeons were
dirty, stupid creatures who spent their time depositing another cement-like
substance on my car and driveway. But
raising Peepers gave me a whole new perspective on the Columba livia (Domestic
Pigeon or Rock Dove). Pigeons are
actually very user friendly birds. This
little guy grew very quickly and adapted to our household as if he were one of
the family. We had a large guinea pig
cage that served as his "nest," but when we were home he spent most
of his time on a newspaper covered table in the living room. He would waddle around and check out the
world, waiting for us to wrap him in a towel and hold him for his feeding. Then he would eat, a process which involved
coating himself inside and out with soggy oats.
Periodic soaks in the bathroom sink were necessary to prevent his body
from a potentially life-threatening encasement of dried oatmeal, but he really
didn't seem to mind his bath-time. Eventually my bird-lover friend suggested we switch
Eventually
we were able to wean our baby bird from the bottle and switch to plain graham
crackers. Next came bread and small bird
seed, and then almost anything at all could be used to satisfy the voracious
appetite of this little beastie. His
feathers filled in, and except for a small glob of dried oatmeal permanently
attached to his forehead, Peepers looked like any other normal (although
somewhat overfed) teenage Domestic Pigeon.
Finally
the time came when we knew Peepers' days in the house were over... because he
was old enough to fly. But how were we
to teach this chunky fledgling to take to the air? We set him in the grass to
accustom him to the outside, and as long as we stayed with him, his world was a
happy place. But if we tried to go
inside for a moment, he would peep piteously and waddle along behind us into
the house like a puppy dog. We tried placing
him on a low tree limb, but he just sat there and peeped pathetically until we
rescued him. What could we do to restore him to his natural environment?
Peepers
and Mother Nature solved the problem for us.
Maybe he was a little older than the other teenage pigeons when he got
this "flyer's license," but he did eventually take off on his
own. He definitely knew where home was,
and would always come back to the house and return to his cage or his place on
the table. Our older house had windows
down to the floor by the front door, so we would look out and see a fat little
pigeon standing on the welcome mat, waiting impatiently for us to
"welcome" him home. Other
times we would hear a tiny rapping noise at the door and there would stand
Peepers, who had actually figured out how to "knock!!"
Even
domestic pigeons are intended to be "wild" birds, so we knew that
eventually Peepers would have to leave home.
The process began with a plastic potato bin nailed to one of the eves of
our house near the front door. It was
located in view of the living room window, so I could keep an eye on my
youngest "child." We lined the
bin with grass and leaves, nailed it to the rafter, placed Peepers inside with
some food and water available, and waited to see what would happen. He stayed in his new home for some time, then
fluttered down to the welcome mat. Of
course we opened the door... this was Peepers, our “oatmeal-headed” son and brother! We visited for a bit and then put him back in
his nest. He perched on the edge of his
bin, took off for a brief flight around the neighborhood, and came back to the
welcome mat. After another visit inside,
we returned him to his outside home.
This process continued through the day, but we began to make him wait
longer and longer to come inside.
The
first night was rough. I was determined
to make him sleep in his new nest, but I eventually relented to his pitiful
peeping and let him sleep indoors. The
next day I was even more resolute, and instead of taking Peepers inside each
time he came to the door, I simply held him for a while, and then placed him
back in his new abode. I saw him eating
the food I left for him and drinking from the outside water dish under the
faucet, so I knew his needs were being met.
Persistent peeping made me feel like a monster, but I knew this was
important... and he did finally get it.
The third night he slept in his basket in the eves (I know because I
have a very powerful flashlight!) and after that he began being gone longer
amounts of time and becoming more of an explorer. Talk about empty nest syndrome! I would fret and worry if he was gone too
long, but our little "potato" would always come home to sleep in his
bin. His inside visits were reinstated
once we were certain he was truly an outside creature once again.
It
didn't take long for Peepers to make a new home and leave the potato bin for
good. But for many months the pigeon
remained a part of our household, perching in the mulberry tree in our front
yard or settling on one of the wooden crossbars on our large front window. He would still occasionally come in for a
visit, but these times came less and less often until they stopped
completely. Our boy had re-acclimated to
his natural environment, and I felt that the process of hand-raising a wild
bird had been successfully completed.
I
never imagined that I would have a close personal relationship with a
pigeon. I especially never imagined that
I would adopt one into my family. But
when I'm gone and the lawyer reads my "Last Will and Testament," a
small codicil will be found, bequeathing a living room table, a plastic potato
bin, and a 100 boxes of Nabisco Honey Grahams to a beloved pigeon named
Peepers. The lawyer will be able to find
him by the small glob of fossilized oatmeal on his forehead.
