Ledgepidge

 This post is a natural outgrowth of discussions regarding one mysterious creature we dubbed 'Ledgepidge.'

On a recent trip up North, we were subjected to some very Northern weather (read: either grey humidity, torrential rain or combination thereof for about 90% of the trip). One day, whilst glancing out of the 5th-floor window upon the sheeting rain, my eye did alight on the following.

 Look at it. It is absolutely in danger of becoming a feathery rugby ball, on its way to full maudlin sphericism. Yes, I know that's not a word and no, I don't care. I was quite fascinated by what on Earth could possess a bird to subject itself to such awful weather. Gingerly, I peeked through the net curtain, fully awaiting the fluttering flap and scatter...

Only to see that Ledgepidge simply was not going to oblige. I gazed upon it, mesmerised, as it perched on the ledge, looking as though it were having a full existential crisis and might jump. Naturally, this wouldn't be quite the concern it might otherwise, seeing as pigeons have wings, but I was nonetheless taken aback by how un-bird-like Ledgepidge was behaving. 'Look!' I cried to my partner. 'Ledgepidge.' He joined me at the window, wherein these photos. We were simultaneously captivated by Ledgepidge's air of being defeated by life (absolutely understandable given that weather), slightly uncomfortable at our anthropomorphising of a wet bird, and surprisingly endeared by its ruffled circularity (CUTE).

Things took a turn when I looked back out on Ledgepidge some time later, and noted the following:

1) It had a blue tag around one of its legs

2) It was blinking furiously with its head down as raindrops slid down its face. Sometimes it would tilt its head a little from side to side, as if trying to get the rain out of its eyes. 'I know how THAT feels,' I found myself thinking and my heart went out to poor old Ledgepidge.

3) Before I could get too sentimental about the similarities between us, I noted that Ledgepidge had added a new shitstain mere centimetres from the one it had generated earlier (thankfully, not in my sight).

I was on the phone as I observed, and found myself expressing the fear that Ledgepidge might be shitting itself to death, not unlike when cats are extremely old and start vomiting profusely as a prelude to passing away. My interlocutor expressed the theory that Ledgepidge might belong to somebody and have escaped. What poignancy of freedom, to stand shitting in the sheeting rain? I advanced the considerably less appealing theory that perhaps it was part of a scientific study of some kind. My interlocutor referenced the well-known idea of pigeons as vermin. 'Maybe,' I agreed, feeling inexplicable guilt as Ledgepidge hunkered down. How could I insult this creature so, when it already behaved as if it was one of life's losers? What kind of pigeon DOESN'T flap off in a seemingly deranged panic the moment you pay it anything other than a stray crumb or several?

Ledgepidge's hunched endurance set tiny hooks in our hearts. I watched on for a while as I carried on conversing, wondering if it had nowhere to go (what an absolutely ABSURD notion for a bird, I mean, they literally have more of the world than the rest of us!). Again, what kind of loser bird had nowhere to be in torrential rain lasting 4+ hours? The kind of bird that had only just tasted freedom. The kind of bird that was sick. Desperate. Old. Dying. The kind of bird, that when faced with the heavens opening up, chose to nestle into itself and squat on a windowsill instead of FLYING AWAY. 

We found ourselves invested. 'I hope it's OK,' I heard myself say, multiple times. 'I feel so bad for it. I feel so bad for Ledgepidge.' We began to experience a growing dread that it might fall asleep, die and fall off the ledge to a messy end in the hotel courtyard below. 'Do pigeons fall off when they die?' my interlocutor asked. 'No idea,' I responded, as it seemed somehow disrespectful to look this up. Ledgepidge's choice, insofar as it had made one, should be respected. Part of me did wonder, if I mimed cupping Ledgepidge at the window, whether that might prompt some survival instinct in it, but I was on the phone and this would DEFINITELY have been disrespectful to its pain/suffering/fascinatingly inexplicable behaviour.

Having been penned into our room for several hours, we departed to the gym, wondering aloud whether Ledgepidge would be there tomorrow. Would we gaze upon more shitstains? Would more shitstains mean death? Did there need to be a body to establish definitive proof of death? We felt rather uneasy at the prospect of this surprisingly cute, almost-fluffy ball of bird becoming a stain many floors down in the next day. As it was, we would never know what became of Ledgepidge. It left behind no more shitstains, no feathers, it was nowhere to be seen on the ground (thankfully). No other pigeon was visible anywhere near the ledge or elsewhere on the roof at any point after that that we could see. We'd like to believe that Ledgepidge found the wherewithal to fly away (as birds should do) and lived to see another day.