Our house backs on to a tree lined brook which makes a very pleasant outlook at this time of year. The trees are a haven for every type of bird. Some species come and go, but there are always woodpigeons.
On the allotment pigeons are a nuisance. Flocks of them in the fields are a pest for farmers. In the trees by the brook they are simply a pleasant part of the scenery.
Early this week, one of the local pigeons found it's way down the chimney and behind the fireplace. It made the occasional rustle but that was all. I asked RSPB and following their advice, telephoned to get a quote for removing the pigeon. I discovered that the cost was for removing and refitting the gas fire and was, maybe, £400. I was also advised that the pigeon wouldn't survive more than a couple of days.
A call to the insurance company revealed that birds had to cause damage to warrant a claim. Falling down a chimney didn't count.
We decided that it would simply have to stay there because the rescue cost was just too great. It would be over soon anyway.
The pigeon had different ideas. It became quiet after two days, then rustled again. After another quiet day it again rustled and I was feeling guilty that it's struggle would be in vain.
Examining the fireplace, I guessed that the tiled decorative panel in front was only plasterboard and might be cut between two rows of tiles.
I removed the fire surround and tried cutting between the tiles with a craft knife. An hour's work made a groove and blisters but was obviously impractical. In a final effort I cut the panel in half with an electric saw.
At midnight, the panel was divided and a gap appeared just large enough to reach in and retrieve the frightened bird. After nearly a week it was still full of struggle.
It spent the night in a box with some greenery and water and early this morning I got up and released it in the garden. It immediately flew up into the trees in a snowstorm of feathers.
Why did this pigeon matter? A friend who shoots sometimes gives us brace and I feel no guilt about pigeon pie. This pigeon had becomeour pigeon. It refused to give in and in a way seemed to deserve another chance.
Aren't human emotions impractical sometimes?
Back in bed after releasing the bird, the chorus of cooing outside seemed just that bit louder than usual, and that scruffy pigeon in the hazel tree ...
...I think that one is ours.
On the allotment pigeons are a nuisance. Flocks of them in the fields are a pest for farmers. In the trees by the brook they are simply a pleasant part of the scenery.
Early this week, one of the local pigeons found it's way down the chimney and behind the fireplace. It made the occasional rustle but that was all. I asked RSPB and following their advice, telephoned to get a quote for removing the pigeon. I discovered that the cost was for removing and refitting the gas fire and was, maybe, £400. I was also advised that the pigeon wouldn't survive more than a couple of days.
A call to the insurance company revealed that birds had to cause damage to warrant a claim. Falling down a chimney didn't count.
We decided that it would simply have to stay there because the rescue cost was just too great. It would be over soon anyway.
The pigeon had different ideas. It became quiet after two days, then rustled again. After another quiet day it again rustled and I was feeling guilty that it's struggle would be in vain.
Examining the fireplace, I guessed that the tiled decorative panel in front was only plasterboard and might be cut between two rows of tiles.
I removed the fire surround and tried cutting between the tiles with a craft knife. An hour's work made a groove and blisters but was obviously impractical. In a final effort I cut the panel in half with an electric saw.
At midnight, the panel was divided and a gap appeared just large enough to reach in and retrieve the frightened bird. After nearly a week it was still full of struggle.
It spent the night in a box with some greenery and water and early this morning I got up and released it in the garden. It immediately flew up into the trees in a snowstorm of feathers.
Why did this pigeon matter? A friend who shoots sometimes gives us brace and I feel no guilt about pigeon pie. This pigeon had becomeour pigeon. It refused to give in and in a way seemed to deserve another chance.
Aren't human emotions impractical sometimes?
Back in bed after releasing the bird, the chorus of cooing outside seemed just that bit louder than usual, and that scruffy pigeon in the hazel tree ...
...I think that one is ours.
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