WHAT WAS PARKED OUTSIDE THE GROCERY STORE

WHAT YOU FIND PARKED OUTSIDE THE GROCERY STORE.

One, two, three heads with floppy ears I counted, appearing and peering up from the front seats; there were some more bobbing around in the back of the vehicle. I lost count. there seemed to be an entanglement of canine bodies and from the middle of it was “keep away,” barking.
A large man in working clothes hobbled towards the car.  It was one of those shaped like a tall post van, but with more windows. 

He opened the driver’s door and ordered the three dogs to “move over” so he could heave himself into his seat. The driver opened the passenger window, giving the one dog that stayed next to him, the opportunity to put its head outside. It wanted a pat. However, I was not sure about the aroma that wafted out at me as I patted it. 

Me: “How many dogs have you got?”
The barking dog deciding this was its cue to resume its rasping noise.
“Q u i e t!” a female voice ordered. ………..Where had she been hiding.
“Eleven, we’ve got eleven dogs”,
Me:“I lost count”. “We often do as well”, said the woman, leaning forward from the corner of the rear seat as she spoke.
 
Just then the man at the wheel called “Come here Tiger”.
An almost white pigeon fluttered down onto the dashboard. Tiger’s tell tale trail signs of dried white splashes were already on it. The bird made no attempt to fly out of the open window.  It would not, it liked being where it was, I was assured. Tiger had been hand reared. There was a pigeon loft at home. No, they did not race or take messages anywhere, the other pigeons just enjoyed their home comforts in their loft.  Tiger, I was informed, was not part of the loft flock. 

The car with its canine, feathered and human cargo and the groceries, eased out of the parking space and disappeared from view.

RESCUING A DISTRESSED FLEDGLING.

The fledgling pigeon fell straight into the water below the safe haven of the nest it had hatched in that was resting on a pipe under a pier.   Sadly, not really a viable nest for it to be launched from. I first met this junior bird, still with its soft furry juvenile feathers, swaddled as you see here.

Pigeon looks uncertain here, soon after its arrival.

At this stage, (later) it was relaxed, drying out and taking in the world it had arrived at - our house. It didn't even mind a gentle one finger stroking of its head.

When hubby rescued it from treading water in the river, he found that the bird's feet were totally clogged up with relatively heavy dried matter from the nest. It didn't stand much of a chance of survival like that. He set about working on freeing the claws.  The animal rescue people were not in the least bit interested in this common specimen. We were told to place it back where it had been so its parents could look after it.  The risky location of the nest was explained, but they were adamant it should go back.   If it had been a rare avian specimen, I bet they would have been tripping over themselves to assist. 

The options, we decided, were to go back and see if parent pigeons were nearby the nest, and/or leave this healthy juvenile bird to its fate from predatory seagulls, or, wait a bit with it, if necessary returning home with the bird.  Hubby did this three times over a day and a half.  On one trip  he thought some jittery adult birds were in the vicinity, though not close to the nest.  Meantime, Pigeon lived in a box and hubby fed the bird.  On the second day, there was every sign that the wings were strengthening. He stayed with the bird while it fluttered around the garden, then finding its freedom, easily, it flew on to the ridge tiles of a neighbour's roof.  It sat there for twenty minutes or so, seemingly taking its bearings.  We like to think it was saying a  bird's farewell to us.