[Part 2: Sitting Pigeon-Toed at a Diamond Commode]

Hindenburg will never fly again.  His wing never healed correctly (or even remotely at a normal angle).  He did eventually calm down and is less freaked out about being around me.

I found myself in a quandary: I went through all the effort, and Hindenburg went through all the terror of ensuring that he’d survive.  Now I had a pigeon that would likely live, but could never be released.  It seemed cruel to kill him now.

As it happens, there is a very large pigeon community online.  Many of them are weirdos.  They write posts from the perspective of their birds “I’m pecking at the keyboard and thinking of some tasty millet…”

However, they (both the people online and their literate pigeons) are very helpful and in a few days I was able to find a dude about a mile from my house that has a grounded pigeon.  He was looking for a companion for it.  Luckily, he didn’t seem to be a weirdo, but he kept misusing the word “feral” when he should have been saying “wild” (ex: “Feral pigeons often land outside my window”).  I somehow managed to avoid pointing this out.

When I got to his apartment, I realized that he lets his bird run free in the house.  I didn’t notice any bird shit anywhere so I guess he cleaned the place before I got there.  This arrangement, of course, would be ideal for Hindenburg –much better than having him confined to a cage.

I handed him my left over seed and grit, took a (blurry) photo, and he promised that he’d update me on Hindenburg’s progress.  I haven’t heard anything yet.

Hindenburg below, and his roommate above.

Hindenburg below, and his roommate above.