All entries for Monday 11 October 2004
October 11, 2004
There was a pigeon in our garden on Friday when I went to get my bike. A fat, grey pigeon lying on the ground, with its neck bent in a funny 'S' shape and its eyes closed. It was undoubtably dead – I didn't check its pulse or anything but it had a certain sereneness that I guess even pigeons only obtain once they have passed on. They clearly have their problems too.
Anyway, there it sat, on the gravel. In the way. The immediate question sprang to mind – what do I do about it? Is this the sort of thing one rings the landlady for? Was I expected, as the discoverer, to move it myself? I'm not a particularly squeamish person but I have to admit that I had no desire to dispose of a dead bird. Certainly not at that time in the morning. And, where the hell was I supposed to put it anyway? It seemed a bit weird to just put it in the bin but I think giving anything larger than a house spider a proper burial borders on lunacy. There aren't enough guidelines on this sort of thing if you ask me.
So, after a good few minutes of simply staring at it in cretinous silence, I did the only obvious thing. I left. I wheeled my bike very carefully around it and shut the gate behind me, feigning ignorance. It was still there when I got back of course but by then it was an existing feature of the garden – old news, if you will, and, therefore, not worthy of my attention. And, more to the point, no longer my responsibility.
It stayed there all weekend, happily decomposing underneath our kitchen window. It was very quiet about it and I doubt I would have given it much thought until this morning if I hadn't happened look out of the window early on Saturday morning. The sun was still quite low in the sky and it was shining in through the window. They're not overly clean, our windows, it has to be said, but in amongst all the other crap clearly highlighted by the light behind it was the ghostly imprint of the front of a pigeon on the glass. It's like a cross between a bad x-ray and that rabbit on the front of Donnie Darko. You can make out chest feathers and the wings (pointing downwards in mid flight, presumably, just before it smacked into a solid vertical surface) and if you look really carefully you can see the eyes and beak. And this is it's most truly disturbing quality. It kind of watches you as you're eating, like one of those paintings in the museum that follows you wherever you go. It would be funny if it wasn't quite so sinister.
I guess it answers the question of how a dead bird came to be lying on the floor. I didn't think it was possible 'cos our kitchen is an extension and the upstairs window is set way back but it's obviously the only explaination – the idiot thing flew, unaided, to its own death. Why, you've got to wonder, was it flying so low? I mean, was it looking for something, like old women scour the pavement for their purses? It had to have been going at a fair crack too, seeing as it was lying a good metre and a half away from the house and there's no smearing of the imprint. It's not like it accidentally bumped into the window on it's way down to land. No, this thing was going like a bullet from a gun on what was clearly a kamikaze outing. I'm no physicist (thank the Good Lord) but I'm surprised it didn't crash through the glass and land, spreadeagled, on the table.
It was gone this morning. I have no idea where it went or who took it – someone with a stronger stomach than me, no doubt as the decay must have well and truly set in by then. Maybe one of my housemates came upon it and thought they were the first ones to find it. They have always been more practical about these things than me. Or, maybe my landlady was making one of her very frequent, very nosy visits and decided it was her job to dispose of it after all. Maybe, I was wrong all along and it wasn't dead after all, it was just having a rest before picking itself up and flying off – possibly to have another attempt at a less reinforced window. Who knows? But, for a while at least – until the next heavy rainfall – we shall have the imprint of a pigeon on our window, greeting us every morning from beyond the grave.
At least I don't have to wheel my bike around it anymore.