I had a special connection with a pigeon, or rather I did once, and his name was Emerson.
You see, we had a crazy one around my workplace (a residence hall here at UCD) that would swoop down and chase after people at seemingly random times. On occasion he would perch on a bike, at others he would just sit atop a light post and watch people go by. He was named after the building we all live in, Emerson Hall, and most everyone called him by name in passing mention.
One day, as I sat outside, the crazy little bugger waddled right up to my shoe, and hopped on. I was dumbstruck. Here I was with this "demonbird" as the residents called him, just perched happily on my shoe. Only after a number of minutes did I realize that this whole time Emerson was not "chasing" or "attacking" residents when he flew towards them feet outstretched, but instead that he was only looking for a place to land, to rest. He was looking for someone he could trust, and until now he had only been batted away by fearful hands. Yet the simple creature continued to look regardless of society's rejecting him time and time again.
So I did what anyone would, I tried to pick him up. Sure enough, I got pecked at, and he pecked hard, but I was persistant, and soon enough he decided it wouldn't hurt anything to perch on my hand. So there he sat enjoying some midday sun, as I enjoyed watching the "crazy bird" groom.
At a point, I thought it would be nice to bring the old bird some bread. It took me 10 minutes of persuading just to get him off my hand. I ran inside and got him a leftover piece of toast I had yet to eat. After arriving outside Emerson was gone, and for a moment I thought it was all just a fluke, but something told me to sit again, so I did. Sure enough, here came the old bag, waddling right up to my shoe and awaiting my hand as a perch. I picked him up, and once he settled in, watched him enjoy the treat I had brought. We sat for easily an hour, with Emerson filling up on what I suspected was the best meal he had eaten in some time, and me enjoying every minute of watching such an amazing creature. I couldn't understand why he had chosen me to trust, and I didn't care, I only appreciated his unique company.
Eventually, I decided it was time to return to my studies. I walked Emerson over to a nearby perch, and he hopped off my hand after a little coaxing. I didn't know it, but this would be the last time I would see Emerson alive. Just sitting there in the crook of that tree, happy to have a full belly.
It after about 20 minutes of being inside that I had two residents come running up to me.
"Hey, your the RA that was holding the bird, right?"
"Yeah, whats up?"
"Emerson's dead. He was just hit by a car in the parking lot."
My newfound friend, misunderstood by so many, was dead less than half an hour after my having fed him his last meal.
So I walked outside, and sure enough there he was, the victim of an abusive relationship with a car tire he had no doubt tried to make friends with just as he had with me. Tears welled up in my eyes, surprising me since I almost never cry, but something about my brief time with Emerson made me reflect on so many aspects of my life. I was lucky enough that a caring resident came out, and volunteered to go bury Emerson in our local park.
As I stood there I noticed a single feather Emerson had left on the pavement. That feather still sits here on my desk, reminding me everyday of what it means to trust, how fragile life really is, and how we should appreciate even the most unusual of company.
So, thats my pigeon story. I just felt like sharing, so take it for what you will, but I'll tell you that I've never learned so many life lessons from such a simple creature
