Oh, Puhleeeze! Not another Bird Drama!

“At least it’s not trying to get in the hot tub anymore,” the Lovely I said philosophically.
JL nodded, concern worrying her brow. “But he’s drinking an awful lot of water. I’ve never seen a bird drink so much water.”
“And it’s got yucky chlorine in it,” the Lovely I tsk tsked. “Here, Birdie, have some good clean Berkeley organic water,” she floated across the tub and poured out a puddle next to the thirsty pigeon who of course ignored it.
PP sighed as she settled into her favorite corner of the hot tub. Bird drama. No more. She’d had enough after the little crow escapade which in the end had turned out all right, but still……
A thirsty pigeon? Maybe it was just thirsty? It was a hot day. Don’t pigeons deserve a drink too?
But yet……
PP turned around to watch its little brown head sucking up the yucky water. LI shaking her head. “Hey, bird. Drink the good water!”
And it did. Like it had heard her command and then hopped to.
It drank and drank and drank.
PP had to admit that it was drinking an awful lot of water.
JL moved up to the side of the tub and leaned on the edge watching in heavy bird concern. “I don’t know what to do. Lindsey won’t take pigeons. When I found my pigeon here, I called them and they said, no, not unless it’s a wild pigeon. And when I described it. White with a little pink on the wings. They said, nope that’s no wild pigeon. We can’t help. And when I told them there was a hawk circling overhead, they said, well if you leave it there, the hawk will get it and of course I couldn’t do that so I took it home and then to Liberty Wild. Did you hear that story LI?”
The Lovely I shook her head as she continued to coax the pigeon to drink her healthful water.
“This pigeon is brown,” PP offered. “Does that mean that they might take it? That it’s wild?”
“Oh, I never thought of that. Does their color show their wildness or tameness?” JL mused.
“I don’t think so,” the Lovely I offered. “I just think the color is like you know our eye color. Brown eyes or blue eyes.”
“Is it like race? Like the brown pigeons are a different pigeon race than the white ones?” PP asked to be silly.
“No,” JL answered very seriously. “I think I is right. It’s like eye color. Though there aren’t as many brown ones that’s for sure.”
PP nodded as she turned away from the drinking bird for a moment to soak in the tub and gaze at the group of pine trees blowing in front of her.
OH! There he goes!” JL exclaimed, excited and happy.
PP turned and yes, there he had gone, but not far. Only to the tarp covering to land there, a dark shadow now trying vainly to get up to the top of the tent like structure. But the shadow kept slipping down. Like he was drunk.
Oh, no. there was something wrong with him.
Now what to do?
JL and the Lovely I climbed out of the tub and moseyed over to check out the progress. He’d hop up the slope and then slide back down then hop a bit more and then slide, but each time he did get a little higher till finally, he reached the metal bar pinnacle and perched there, resting.
Ok, PP thought. He must be ok to get to the top and then just hang out. If he were really sick, wouldn't he fall back down?
PP decided she was gonna go take a shower and not get involved. She wasn’t in the mood to drive to Walnut Creek with a drunk pigeon. She wanted to go to Moe’s and listen to Al Young read poetry and then go up to O’s and have grilled cheese and watch the Marilyn Monroe Marathon on AMC.
Was she just a selfish bitch?

PP thought probably so, but then, if JL and The Lovely I wanted to somehow rescue the pigeon though lord knows how they were gonna get it now that it was atop the shade tarp thingee, well…..let em. She was gonna go partake of poetry and sex appeal.

But then, in the shower, PP felt a Pigeon Pang. What if a hawk came by and saw the poor little guy perched atop the tarp all forlorn and tired and drunk on pool water?
Could she sleep at night knowing that she’d left the poor little guy to such a fate?

She could not.
And of course, neither could JL and the Lovely I.
“We have to go check on the pigeon one more time before we leave!” JL had insisted, knowing that they were all going to do this anyway.
And they did. Clean and showered and spacey and hungry they ambled over to the far side of the pool to take a look.
No, he wasn’t on top of the tent tarp anymore.
Was this a good sign? Had he flown away?
Had he fallen down into the grass of the dark dense hedges that surrounded the hot tub area?
JL and the Lovely I started to peer around the surroundings. PP did too, but was hoping she didn’t see anything. And if she did?
Would she tell them?
Oh, of course she would. Marilyn Monroe could wait.
“I don’t see him, do you guys?” JL asked anxiously.
“No, I don’t see him,” the Lovely I shook her head.
“Me neither,” said PP. “But I’m hoping I won’t’ so I’m not looking very hard,” she joked.
They laughed but not very hard. It really wasn’t very funny. Bird Rescue. It was a very serious business and PP knew this but she just couldn’t help herself sometimes. It was only a bird after all. Not a human being.

PP suddenly shuddered to herself as she remembered the Homeless Man she’d seen lying comatose on Market St when she got off the BART on her way to work the other day. Everyone just sidestepping him. Talking on their cell phones, completely oblivious. How could this be? As she stopped to see if he were ok. And he wasn’t. This much she could tell. He was in really bad shape. Lying there on his side, his face
all scrunched up and purple and his jeans offa his ass and it was
awful.... it was so sad. She’d almost started crying...and so when she got to school, she tried calling the homeless advocacy agency in SF—but of course, could only leave a message--then social services who was a person, but then this person, a Harried Woman with a tired edge to her voice, just hooked PP up to their homeless issues division--another message---so PP had called back and HW was really bitchy and said well, if PP thought he was sick or dying they don't go pick people up off the streets. She needed to call 911.....

Stupid bitch why didn't she tell PP that in the first place?

But at least the 911 lady was nice and said they'd send a paramedic out
right away. Which made PP feel better, but.....will that help him? She didn’t know. It's all so sad and she felt so powerless. Here in the richest country in the world and this goes on. He’s a human being for crissakes!

Maybe this is why they tried to rescue birds. At least they could do Something. Even if it was just capturing the poor sick bird and taking it to the Lindsey Wildlife Rescue. At least it felt like solid help. Whereas with this poor man. Did the paramedics really come to help? And even if they did, then what? They’d probably throw him back out on the streets and the whole process would start again.

At least with the birds, if they get better, they fly away, right?

“He musta flown away then,” JL sighed in relief.
PP nodded, thinking how she wasn’t going to mention the Homeless Man. How it was just a silly pigeon they were so worried about.

But it was a life. And isn’t that what the real issue was here in both cases? Life is so precious, whether it’s a pigeon, a Homeless Bum or a Swimming Kitty.

“Can we go now? I’m really hungry all of a sudden.” The Lovely I sing songed softly, and she was right. It was time to go. Eat grilled cheese. Drink bubbly water.. Listen to poetry. Drool over Marilyn. Play with the cats.

.And the pigeon was fine, he had to be. Just like the Homeless Man. The paramedics came and helped him. Right?

PP shook her head as she stared up at the vast blue afternoon sky.
“I don’t see any Hawks.” JL proclaimed as they headed out of the Mills Pool Compound.
“Nope,” PP agreed.
And with a sigh of relief, PP turned and followed the Lovely I and JL outta the Aquatics Compound and out into the lovely summer evening where birds flew, Homeless Bums thrived, and Marilyn proved she was a girl's best friend.


Ruth Jameson said…
Wonderful! We all are but birds in this trip we call life...

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