Sidney the Woodpigeon Part 1

Although it wasn’t obvious to the onlooker, the lockdown was hurting some members of the pigeon community as well as the human one. We will concentrate on some of those belonging to the common woodpigeon (genus Columba Palumbus) group.

The two fat woodpigeons were perched on the ridging tiles of the roof of the detached house on the bland estate, just looking. Nowadays, they had no plan as such; they were waiting for either inspiration or a fright to galvanise them into action. Inevitably, it was the latter that happened first. A car door would slam, or a window open nearby. Occasionally, the house owner would spot them and clap their hands to scare them away. It usually worked, but not for very long.

Once airborne, it was a simply a question of identifying a suitable garden in which to land and begin the process of pecking around to see what was available. Maybe trash a few flowers as well; possibly leave a black and white calling card on the patio paving. Our woodpigeons had recently begun to favour the gardens at No. 14 and 24, not that they knew the numbers of course. There seemed to be no cats to worry about. Food was plentiful because of the overflow from the bird-feeders. The owners of the house didn’t normally try to shoo them away.

Sidney, the older of the two woodpigeons, had begun to wonder why none of the others woodpigeons (and there were plenty of them) didn’t try to muscle in and take over. It had happened many, many times before.  The gardens seemed idyllic to him. Unfortunately for Sidney, he wasn’t up to speed on the gossip currently spreading through pigeon-land due to other commitments. He was about to find out though.

The first shot missed by a matter of millimetres, hitting the fence behind him. He heard the noise, looked up and instinctively sensed he needed to get away immediately, if not sooner. Using the in-built panic mode possessed by all woodpigeons, he started flapping his wings and took off, trying to swerve from side to side whilst doing so. He attempted to alert the other woodpigeon, Cyril, but the exertion involved in trying to get away meant the best he could achieve was a strangled squawk. It was too little too late; the second shot hit Cyril square in the chest, killing him instantly. Sidney saw it happen, but there was nothing he could do about it.

It was a difficult conversation. Woodpigeons mate for life, and Cyril had been with Florrie for four years now. They had reared six lovely chicks together, although they never kept in touch. Woodpigeons aren’t noted for their close family ties. Sidney flew over to where Florrie spent a lot of her time, a branch high up in a fir tree at the edge of the town, and broke the bad news. If woodpigeons showed emotion, then Florrie cried when she found out. When he flew off, Florrie was still extremely upset. He made a note to ask his other half, Rita, to keep an eye on her.

Sidney was a bit of a thinker on the quiet. Woodpigeons may look like overweight, lumbering carcasses, but they are quite intelligent creatures, and Sidney was one of the brighter ones in the current crop. When he was fledging (they are known as squabs), he once asked his dad “what do we do?”

His father had been bemused. “What do you mean ‘do’? We’re woodpigeons. We do what we want, when we want and how we want.”It was a proud boast, but Sidney knew better than to point out the stupidity of the remark. Even at his young age he was aware that cats, humans, cars and other larger birds tended to have a degree of control over what a woodpigeon can and can’t do on a day-to-day basis. Undeterred, he opted for a less confrontational approach.

“I don’t mean how do we all fit into the world we live in (see, I told you he was bright). It’s more, more, what is our role in the world? Do woodpigeons have a specific purpose? Is there something we do that other birds can’t do?”

His father thought about it. “Well, pigeons of all types are the only birds that can suck up water. Does that answer your question?”

“No, not really,” replied Sidney.

“OK, well, let’s see. We’re related to pigeons that can fly very fast. We have the ability to find our way back from long distances away from home. Armies all over the world have found us useful in carrying messages and even taking photographs from the air. How about that?”

“A bit better, but things have moved on. I’m not a racing or homing pigeon; I’m a woodpigeon. I live in trees. I find stuff to eat in peoples gardens. I will meet a partner one day and father some chicks. I’ll be faithful to my partner forever. That’s about it. I think there should be more than this.”

“Well,” his father said, “you will be disappointed.”

So Sidney, using his above-average woodpigeon intelligence, started to think about making something of his relatively short life. He flew all over the town (it was still a small place so this didn’t prove too difficult) trying to achieve something his father clearly thought to be both impossible and unnecessary.

He had noticed there was a car-wash next to the supermarket nearby. He flew over on several occasions, looking for inspiration. As he did so, he noticed an owl perched upon an aerial above the car-wash. Contrary to what you might have heard elsewhere, woodpigeons and owls are able to get on with each other and, indeed, communicate fairly easily. After a couple of days thinking about how best to start to talk to the owl, Sidney in the end opted for a straightforward approach. He landed clumsily on another part of the aerial with the owl in situ.

“Oops! Apologies for the crash-landing,” said Sidney as he returned his feathers to their normal resting places about his person. “My name is Sidney. Have you got a few minutes to talk?”

The owl looked at Sidney with mild amusement. “You’ve been flying around me for a few days now, wondering how best to introduce yourself. I may be old, but I still miss nothing. By the way, that was the worst landing I’ve ever seen. You’re lucky you didn’t do yourself a mischief.”

It was obvious to Sidney the owl was what his dad used to call ‘a bit of a character’. It was a good start as far as he was concerned.

“I misjudged it, that’s all. I don’t often land on aerials. The owners get upset when their TV reception gets affected and tend to try to extract revenge. It’s really not worth it. Anyway, now that I’m here, will you tell me your name?”

“No,” replied the owl, “because I’m still not sure I want to talk to you. In my world, any bird that flies round a specific place for ages without explaining what it’s doing should be treated with suspicion. I’m therefore suspicious.”

“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” responded Sidney, who proceeded to explain his quest to a more and more interested owl. This took the best part of fifteen minutes. At the end, the owl whistled quietly.

“Well, I confess I didn’t expect that. My name is Screech. Not Screechy, Screech. I get upset when birds call me by the wrong name. They don’t do it twice.”

Sidney realised he’d cleared the first hurdle. He relaxed a little bit. Screech was looking at him curiously.

“In all my years I’ve never known any bird wanting to understand what he’s expected to do with his life. Humans work, earn money and buy things. Some animals are domesticated and serve their masters. Not many birds though. Machines have been invented by humans to make life easier.”

Screech warmed to his task. “Some of your relatives have been domesticated, but not your genus as far as I’m aware. I’ve met many woodpigeons, but you are by a distance the brightest. I’m flattered you decided you wanted to speak to me.”

Sidney thought about it. “You are the first owl I’ve ever spoken to. In fact, I’ve never seen an owl in a town environment before. Can you tell me why you’re here rather than in the countryside?”

The answer Screech provided was not what he expected, but was, ultimately the opening he was looking for to make something of his life.

“You are sitting on an aerial owned by Ray Flood. Well, Ray owns the car-wash upon which the aerial is positioned anyway. Originally, I was owned by Ray when he was a kid. He found me with a damaged wing one morning when he was out playing, and took me to his home. His parents were nice people and took me to the vet, who fixed my wing. As I wasn’t allowed to fly for a few weeks Ray asked his parents if he could keep me.”

“Ray was a good kid. I wasn’t caged away, but encouraged to develop as best I could with my restricted capabilities. In fact, when my wing was checked and complete healing confirmed, Ray took me back to where he’d found me and released me back into the wild. I wasn’t having any of that. The food and accommodation were too good to leave, so I flew around for a bit before landing on Ray’s shoulder. He took me back home and we’ve been buddies ever since.”

“When Ray opened the car-wash, the supermarket wasn’t here. I know because Ray created a perch and special accommodation for me in the Reception area and I went with him to work every day. I know my being there was unusual, but Ray told me it helped to bring the punters in.”

“Ray told you?” interjected Sidney. “You speak to each other?”

“It’s not quite like that,” replied Screech. “Ray talked out loud. I was something he could talk at I suppose. It just so happened I was able to understand what he said. No idea why, but there you go. Anyway, over the years the car-wash business has ebbed and flowed. Of late, there are lots of small places offering bespoke services at silly prices, so competition is tough.”

Screech continued. “I wanted to help if I could. Yes, I’m getting on a bit now, but I had a few ideas. One day, I flew off from my perch and did what you’ve been doing for the last few days. You know – reconnoitring the area. The number of cars using the supermarket each day is considerable and it suddenly struck me they all had to pass the car-wash to get away to the routes out of town. In other words, there was a captive audience.”

“I simply targeted a couple of cars waiting to leave the supermarket, before crapping on their windscreens from a great height. I’m an owl – I’m good at things like that. The drivers need to get their windscreens cleaned as they can’t see where they’re going. They remember there’s a car-wash ahead and the rest is history. Over the last year or so I’ve probably created more business from my targeted business than Ray has from his usual customers.”

“Impressive work,” said Sidney.

“Thanks,” replied Screech. “Ray looks at me sometimes and I swear he knows it’s me bringing all these cars in, but he can’t really believe what is happening. He has increased my food allowance, which I’m guessing is his way of thanking me, but I’m getting old now. The joints are starting to hurt and I can’t do what I’ve been doing so easily. Getting in and out of the Reception area is getting harder too. That’s why I spend a lot of my days sat on this bloody aerial.”

Sidney had an idea. He put it to Screech, who thought it was brilliant. A few days later, Screech passed on the responsibility of bringing in new business for the car-wash to Sidney, who in turn made such a success of it that he was able to enlist the help of Cyril some months later. Business boomed, although the local paper did run an article about the increased amount of bird-shit being deposited on cars close to the supermarket. Nothing happened to change anything.

As far as payment was concerned, Sidney was insistent he was more interested in being a useful contributor to society than anything else. Screech spent more time on his perch in the Reception area once Sidney had shown he was able to do the job properly, but on occasion flew up to the aerial with a small bag of goodies he’d liberated from the car-wash as a thank you.

And then the lockdown happened. Initially, the volume of vehicles using the supermarket and, by extension, the car-wash increased dramatically. In time though, the supermarket cut its hours of opening and social distancing lengthened the time it takes to complete a big shop. The car-wash had to closed as well as Ray found it impossible to meet the criteria required to stay open.

Sidney and Cyril were the woodpigeon equivalent of laid off. Both birds took it hard, but there was nothing they could do. Until lockdown restrictions were eased and the car-wash able to reopen, it was back to being an ordinary woodpigeon again. Compared to the life they had led before, it was so boring. At least the humans could receive furlough payments.

The children of the owners of No. 14 were also bored. Their parents worked in reserved occupations, so they had a lot of time on their own. They’d had enough of computer games, the internet, Facetiming friends etc. Something to relieve the boredom was needed. Searching through their father’s office one morning, they’d discovered the air rifle and pellets. A combination of trial and error led them to where we are today. The woodpigeon community is mourning the loss of one of its brothers, Florrie is weeping about her partner’s demise, and Sidney is wondering what the future holds.

Next time you see a woodpigeon and think they are a waste of time, think on! You may be surprised at some of the things they get up to….