Penny Pigeon, Sweetie Dove

 Penny Pigeon, Sweetie Dove

This Little Birdie Gotta Blog

by Jacquelyn J. Meyers

Once upon a time (like, two weeks ago), a friend of mine (named Julie S.) texted me to tell me that her dog had attacked a pigeon in her yard, and she had been trying to nurse it back to health, but was going out of town, and asked if I might take the bird in while she was gone.

I have a couple of older chickens, and I have a few younger chickens, and so am aware of some of the threat that wild birds can pose to domestic birds, and have had my share of grief from that (mites in particular).  But I thought on this, and my heart said yes to it, despite the possible threats (and plenty else to do, since I’d already been nursing my own injured, very painful heel, making it quite challenging to simply even walk most of the time).

Julie brought the bird over the next day before she left for her trip.  Expectedly, she didn’t have a cage for it, so she brought it in a sturdy box.  She had two cute little plastic bowls for sustenance—one for food, and one for water.  “I read that they eat corn, and all I had was popcorn”, she said, so she’d put that in the feeding dish.  I’ve had wild doves around here before, and they’ve seemed pretty happy with the leftover chicken feed and scratch around here, so I added that to the dish.

Julie said that she and her little miss Quinn she’s been fostering (age six) had decided to name this pigeon Penny.  I thought that was cute.  Penny Pigeon.  Julie held and opened up the bird’s wing to show me the injuries.  There was a long, bloody scab across the inside of the right wing.  “It doesn’t look broken”, she said.  We could hope that our efforts would help this charming creature back to fulfilling the measure of its creation.

Penny was sweet and quiet and calm.  She would shy away from me when I’d get closer, so I only physically moved her when it was necessary—like, when I’d put her in the garden shed at night to protect her from the many cats that seem to roam my garden after dark.

As I cared for this sweet bird, I thought back on how much my late mother loved birds—she even subscribed to the Birds & Blossoms magazines.  One of the things I’d inherited after helping clean up her place after her passing last year, was her darling bird wall clock, that had a pretty painting of a different song bird at each hour, and will sing the song of that bird at the moment it strikes that particular daylight hour.  It sits working it’s magic in my office as I write.

I thought on how after Mother died, several of us had felt we’d seen more doves than we had seen before she passed.  My just elder living sister and I especially saw more white doves, and this sister even saw white-winged doves, which I did not recall ever seeing before, despite my own much-ado about birding.  

I considered that perhaps this dove had a message in this opportunity for me to care for her.  According to my Merlin Bird ID app, she was a white-winged dove—but not the grey kind we normally see around here—the darker kind they apparently have in Texas.  And I admit, I am assuming this dove is female, but I am confident she is a dove, as she is smaller than a pigeon.  

Mother and I had an issue that had not been resolved before she passed.  I had to wonder if this situation was symbolic of her returning to fix her part of that unresolved issue, so that she could really “fly” out there as an angel on the other side—without any more emotional burdens to weigh her down.  In the past when I’d worked to confront this vital issue, she had not been ready to fix things, so I’d chosen to forgive her for the sake of our relationship.  This unburdened me, so I surely can accept that she is ready now, and surely want to help that process for her.

It was no coincidence to me that this situation came at a time when I was also healing from an injury.  I am keen to the science of the emotional connection to physical conditions, as well as the scientific evidence of the power of our words, and what we say to help ourselves along, against what we might have inadvertently said to ourselves (often because someone else wrongfully taught us to think those things about ourselves) that held us back.

So I went about my efforts to help heal both of us with mindfulness.  Slowing down, looking at things thoughtfully, talking a few things out on the patio stairs with the bird, and creating some little cards for some mantras and affirmations I’d be available to practice regularly, that I’d taped to the bathroom mirror to be sure to see each morning.

After a few days, my eldest daughter came over to help massage out the stiffness in my injured heel.  As we talked about things, she commented that maybe I should rename the dove, “Shadow”, because maybe there’s some representation to my shadow self in there.  Perhaps.  But then I considered to call the bird, “Sweetie”, because she was so quiet and sweet—so much like my dear, late mother.

Little Penny Sweetie had discovered a little place in the garden shed where she preferred to nest—right on top of some potato bags I had on the second shelf.  I would open the shed each morning, refill her food and water, then brace the door open so she could go in and out as she pleased, as well as setting an alarm on my phone for sundown, so I could secure the door shut after she’d gone in to rest for the night.


After a few days, her appetite seemed to pick up.  As a Certified Nutritional Herbologist, I’d been putting some powdered healing herbs in with the scratch seed I was feeding her.  One morning she approached me as I went to refill her dish.  She made her first, tiny little dove sound—as if to say, “I’m hungry!  Thanks for coming!”.  Then after I filled the dish, she did it again, as if she was thanking me.  And those were the only two times I heard anything at all from her.  Julie had mentioned that when her little dog attacked this bird, the dove was very calm—like more evidence that there was an actual plan here.  

Miss Sweetie quickly got used to the routine I’d set up, and one evening when I was out tending to the other birds and garden, I looked back and Miss Sweetie was trotting from the patio into the shed to put herself to bed.  It was pretty adorable.

Two weeks after she was brought to me, she was testing her wings, by flying up onto a two-foot-high plastic tool box next to the patio.  It was a Sunday.  The next thing I saw, she was testing out her ability to fly up to the rooftop of the garden shed she’d been sleeping in at night.  The next day would be my paternal mother’s birthday (my long-deceased grandmother, Retta), not to mention also a coming full Sturgeon moon.  It all seemed to mean something—probably even more than I’d be able to put together, but I did my best to use this experience to consider how I might also progress from it.  That was the day I saw her go from the garden shed rooftop to the patio rooftop.  It doesn’t get any higher than that around here—for rooftops.  And the next thing I knew….she was gone.  I hoped she’d had a flock to return to.  I hoped she’d be safe and happy.

The next day, the neighborhood Sharp-Shinned hawk was around.  As time progressed, I realized how good it was that Sweetie was gone, since those hawks have been known to eat doves around here (as two of my neighbors have reported in recent years).  The predators deserve to eat, too, as their numbers are down.  Such is the circle of life, but I can still pray that this little Sweetie gets a good chance at life.  

Two days after the dove took off, we had a near-hurricane-like storm, and I looked out the window, and lo-and-behold, little Miss Sweetie was sitting on the top step of the patio, right outside my sliding door, in one of the safest places there could be out there, since the wind was so forceful, it had gone past the usual four-feet in under the patio, and was coming all the way up the stairs and to the door!  Hail had also been reported just a few blocks south.  I was so glad Miss Sweetie would feel that this was a place of refuge from that storm.  It always will be.  I had left out some food and water for her, just in case, so she had some of that.  And then as soon as the storm was over and the skies began to clear, she was off.  I never really got to see her fly away, but that’s okay.  

Once Sweetie left, the pain in my heel became minimal.  I’d been working on my own perceptions of moving forward from hard things, into the unknowns of my own future—trusting the God I’d learned to trust, to help lead my way.  What’s left for me to heal (heal the heel) is my responsibility.  I get to figure out how to move forward from here.  I will always hope that bird will be happy and safe, until her hour with God is over, but in the meantime accept the precarious nature of life, as I choose to move forward with joy—whatever the experiences ahead might bring.  It’s all about the experience, right?  And then of course, how we might grow by making mindful choices in our reactions to those experiences.  

Thank you for coming here, little bird.  It was unexpected, but surely no coincidence, because there was truly purpose for both of us in it all.  May be both fly more freely from here on out.