I Saved A Baby Bird From Drowning

It survived, thrived and was released into the wild to live happily ever after.

I wish I had video footage of the moment I plucked it from the water. I wish I had documented everything that happened in the months afterwards, too. There are so many animal rescues on social media that go viral that it doesn’t seem fair to reduce this one to text. Unfortunately, I wasn’t thinking about viral opportunities at the time. I wanted to save an animal’s life.

When I was young, I raised pigeons. It was a different time in my life.

My early teenage years were spent breeding pigeons. They were raised to compete in long-distance races.

Fast-forward to March this year: Mark and I were sailing a short trip from Woody Point to Sandgate in his trailer boat for a meat pie at the famous Doug’s Cafe. On the way over to the popular cafe, I noticed an object breaking the surface of the water. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I asked Mark to navigate towards it anyway. Only a beak and a bit of its tail were left above the water. The chick was in distress and completely exhausted.

My best guess was that it fell from the nearby Hornibrook Highway (They nest on the bridge, on the structures that hold it up) and fell while trying out its newly feathered wings.

Yes, it was a baby bird (more like a toddler).

Toddler pigeons aren’t perfect flyers. They mess about, stagger on their wings and fall down. Land-based children have it easier. If they get it wrong, they stop and start over again.

Pigeons hatched above the water don’t have such a luxury. They don’t have waterproof feathers like ducks or seagulls either. Once wet, they soak it up and stay that way for a long time.

She squeaked like a young pigeon, and her eyes hadn’t lost their greyness. She was ready to fly and would’ve made it if she hadn’t been born under that damn bridge.

As I said, she was exhausted and didn’t have the energy to stand. Drooped wings and a floppy neck told me that she wasn’t in good shape. I expected her to die within minutes… but she hung on.

We got to our destination, and I filled her crop with fresh water. We ate our meals and sailed right back so I could take her straight home. By 7 pm, she could hold her head up, but I still expected to wake in the morning to see a dead bird.

A little soaked bran mixed with water and glucose was pushed down her throat for breakfast. A day later, she was standing again. I was very surprised at the progress!

Pigeons of Chelsea’s (I named her) age are almost completely weaned, so two days later, I took a chance and switched to dry seed by filling a drinking straw with it and inserting it into her throat, dropping it directly into her crop. Margo watched and gagged.

As I said, I raised these birds when I was a kid and was confident that we were heading in the right direction.  

The pics below were taken recently.

We’d put her away at night and let her roam during the day. She became a good friend and always looked out for me. Margo would feed her, but when she saw me arrive, she’d come across to say hello. You can see in the sequence that she left her and landed on my head to take food from my hand.  

Shortly after, we stopped putting her away altogether and let her go to live her own life.  

She is still out there, somewhere in Dayboro (near the Uni Vets and the Scout Hall), mixing it up with the local doves. Perhaps she found a pigeon mate at the local school.  

Now it’s time to get back to the business of selling a psychological thriller. 

–Michael (Dark Fiction. Author of SEETHINGS (the first book), free for a limited time)

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