A Close Encounter
“I pray to the birds because they remind me of what I love rather than what I fear.”
Terry Tempest Williams
One morning on our boat, while we were docked, a pigeon alighted on the stern, less than a foot away.
“Well, hello!” I said.
The pigeon cocked her head and seemed to make eye contact, unafraid. Intrigued and puzzled, I moved closer. Mostly gray with two black bars across her wings and some iridescence along the neck, she appeared calm, almost friendly. I soon discovered why when I noticed the bands encircling her legs, one tan and one green. She was a homing pigeon.
Soon she entered the open area at the back of the boat, walking freely around as if she were home. My husband, unenchanted by our surprise guest, shooed her away and immediately set to cleaning the deck of her “calling cards.”
Though she had flown, she wouldn’t leave my mind. Was she lost? Did our boat remind her of home? Was there a way to contact her owner? Online sources advised anyone finding a homing pigeon to give food and water immediately, put the bird in a cage, and gather the needed information from her leg-band to notify the owner.
What if she returned? As if on cue, she alighted again on the deck. From where I sat inside the boat doing my research, I could easily see her through the tempered glass door. She moved closer, peering in. I had no cage and no food, but I could offer her water.
I filled a bowl and set it as near to her as I could. She had moved away when I came out, but still didn’t seem afraid. She approached the bowl and drank three sips, dipping her beak in the water each time and tossing it back like a barfly would a shot of whiskey.
I dubbed her “Pidge,” and allowed the fondness that had bubbled up the second she landed on our stern. She had, for some reason, chosen our boat from the many around us. It soon became clear, with each successive shooing by my husband and her inevitable return, that my voice or presence is what seemed to draw her back. Even after my husband had closed the stern of the boat to keep her out, she came back and perched on the canvas top.
What can be said about such arbitrary events, these warm encounters between two species? My first theory—that she found something with us that reminded her of home—satisfies the rational mind. But what satisfies my heart is the loosely held notion that she and I recognized our kinship. That’s all. A kinship that always lies below the surface of fears and concepts. At another time, I might have thought she had a message for me, but that idea can often spring from human arrogance. It was much more simple. We met each other being to being, open and unencumbered.
