Saturday, November 16, 2013
Spirit Animal

Standing outside PFB in pouring rain under the big awning by the bargain books with a friend.  Tap, tap on my foot.  Look down & there's a pigeon squab, draggled grey adolescent feathers half-moulted.  Tap, tap again.

-Richard, what do you see?

-That little bird?  It's pretty brave.

Hallucination ruled out, our man kneels down on the wet pavement. 

-Hey there.  Are you OK?

The squab cocks its head.  Poops.  Struts off under the bargain-book table.

Thirty seconds' conversation.  When we next look down the squab is gone.

-Did you see...?

-It was there just a second ago!

Into PFB to see if the squab slipped in the out door.

-Did you see a little bird come in just now?  A squab?  It's moulting.

-GREAT!  That means it can't fly.  We can eat it! 

Then, upon seeing my face:

-Sorry CJB.

Squab, in Phil Collins' words, "vanished into air."

[EDIT, Saturday AM: Squab hanging around the front door c. 7am.  Strutted up to me without any sign of anxiety, pecked my foot again, then flew up into the little tree opposite the front door. Definitely not the same animal as the last two, but I think the species remembers].

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