So here we are...
So it has been about a year since my last time here. I thought I would swing by with an update, as well as the full story of how we met.
It was just after dark on a late summer evening. I had another rescue bird at the time, a Golden Chat named Golden Chick after the restaurant down the road. I was out collecting insects from the local parking lots to feed her.
I was on my way back home with a jar full of crickets for Golden Chick when I spotted some shape near a storm grate in the parking lot which had not been there before when I'd been hunting.(trust me; when you spend an hour a day scanning a cement parking lot at night for fast little black things, your brain keeps a map of every stain, oil spot and twig on the ground)
I thought maybe it was a plastic bag or something. I approached, and it began moving towards me. Once I was ten feet away, I could tell it was a living thing. It continued approaching me, and then I saw it was a pigeon with a drooping wing.
I checked the area to see if there were chicks on the ground or something which would explain this bird's odd behavior. I could see no signs of illness, so I bent down and reached out to it. It did not move away. I took a breath, reassured myself that rabies is a mamillian affliction, and picked it up.
It did not attempt any hostile action, so I figured there might be brain damage like a concussion or some such.
I took a closer look at the drooping wing, and it was mostly detached just after the "wrist". There was only a sinewy tendon holding the end of the wing on. By the clotting and figuring the fast heart rate and high body temp, and taking into account the nature and location of the break, I concluded she was likely struck by a whip antenna from a vehicle on the road perhaps twenty minutes before, and had, in a state of shock, walked about 75 yards to where we met.
I took her home, broke out one of the cat carriers and lined it with newspaper, added a water dish and soaked a bit of bread and left it and her closed in there overnight.
I fed Golden Chick and went to sleep.
Next morning, since she was still alive, I decided to do something about that wing, as it was still dangling. I got out my low-temp LED work lights, disinfected a rolling wooden bakers' table and gathered my other equipment; a beaker half-filled with 70% Isopropyl, wire cutters, a magnification light and a vice. I used double-stick tape to adhere a couple foam blocks to the jaws of the vice. After pulling her out of the carrier, I affixed her to the vice firmly enough that she could not move, but lightly enough that I could still pull my fingers out from between her and the vice.
I raised the injured wing and examined it closely. I looked for inflammation on the body-side of the break, which might indicate gangrene or other infection. There was only minimal redness or swelling, and it was clear that with not even a peice of bone still intact, and with the scabbing already begun, there was no way to save the wingtip. So I had the wire cutters in the alcohol the whole time. I got them out, shook them dry, and quickly snipped the tendon by which the wing tip was still hanging.
She did not seem to mind that at all.
So she got out of surgery and went right back to recovery. I had her exactly three days before her disposition changed virtually overnight. She started beating me up regularly. So I removed the door to her carrier which had been separating her from four cats and a rabbit. I figured she was eager to stretch her legs and move around.
She did all of the above. Now, there is a hierarchy in animal social groups and cats are no different. We have a Boss Cat, her sister is Number Two, and my favorite, Abby, is number three. Then there is the Retard, Jojo, who is number four. (and if any of you liberal pansies give me any **** about the "retard" thing: IT'S a CAT! Dig your sense of humor out from beneath all those fluffy pink douche bags in your closet and try to use it once in a while!) The bunny and the Boss Cat have some kind of understanding whereby Birdine(the Boss Cat)has certain authorities in certain situations, but generally the bunny can disobey her.
So they have all this worked out, they are still trying to figure out what to do about Golden Chick (who can certainly fly and does so often) who is loaded with WAY more attitude than anyone who weighs 9/10ths of an ounce has any business having, and now there's this pigeon.
Lady Bracknell (after the matriarch in The Importance of Being Ernest, a play by Oscar Wilde) is a convention. I have no way of being certain that she IS a "she," and I'm not about to go mucking about with her vent. Suffice it to say, she exhibits both typically male and typically female behavior, so it's a toss-up. Besides, I really just could not care less. She is called "Lady B." and that is just that. I mean hell, I'm a male but I have a girls' name, I dress like a girl, and aside from the occasional transmission overhaul, I act kinda like a girl. So what?
Anyway; she has been a member of the family ever since. She actually plays with the cats now. But when they get out of line or unruly, she has no problem whipping them all into shape. There is this thing where her and the Boss Cat participate in the occasional demarcation dispute over allocation of authority, but aside from that everything is peachy. She has daily sun baths with the cats. She roosts right amongst them in the sun every day there is any sun.
Oh, and I figured out what the white feet were about (see earlier posts): She was dirty. That is what happens to pigeons when they have not bathed. We get smelly, they get scaly. Go figure.
Occasionally, I'll wake in the night and Lady B. will be roosting ON ME. Great. And talk about "weird"; this thing eats rocks! And not just any ol' rocks, either. No! She has to have special red rocks with vatamins and **** added. What is this? The damn rocks cost more than the food!
Oh, well. I guess I'm stuck with it. Anyone know the life expectency of pigeions?
