Last November, we were visited by a pigeon. It was the first time in the 8-1/2 years that we lived here that a bird landed on our balcony for a bit of respite, so it was interesting enough to snap some pictures.
Now there’s a black bird on our balcony. I think it’s another pigeon. He’s a cute little thing anyway. (I know some people think of them as “flying rats” but this ain’t New York, and I like 'em.) He’s pretty docile, and has walked right up to the screen door, in spite of three very curious predatory felines peering at him from the other side. I was even able to put the cats in the bedroom and leave the screen door open, though so far he hasn’t ventured into the apartment – he’s wary, but not flighty.
It makes me think he’s hurt, or perhaps tired, but he’s wandered around the balcony and preened his wings without any seeming difficulty. He even pecked at some of the bits of bread we threw out there for him. I notice he’s tagged, too – one on each foot.
Right now he’s still standing with his back to me, his head lolled over to one side and appearing to be taking a nap. (I didn’t think they could sleep standing up)
I think I will call him Phil.