Tears keep spilling over my bottom lashes and onto my cheeks while I’m typing and I feel like a total idiot.

My pigeon Mr. Waddles has died.

He was a disabled pigeon friend who I shared my sandwich with every day.

He even pecked on the window one morning when I wasn’t quick enough getting out with his portion.

He was stubborn and proud and resourceful.

We recently had some rain – and when I went to see where he might be, I startled him out of a little alcove – but he had no cover.  Mr. Waddles was soaking wet, so I made him a box – which he didn’t use.

Seeing Mr. Waddles in the rain was about the sweetest and saddest thing you ever did see.

He couldn’t fly like most pigeons, instead he did what I referred to as a ‘chicken fly’ – you know, a lot of flapping, not a lot of height, but some sort of airborne moment. He was unable to reach anywhere to roost, so he kept on the move all day.  Smart,  considering the roadrunners that share the territory.

I thought out loud just the other day about how much walking he did!  I mean, I know pigeons and most scavenger birds do a lot of walking, but he had no choice.  I wondered if his legs were bigger because of it.  (As if he was meant to have awesome calves from all the working out.)

Anyway, when I pulled into work each morning, there he was, huddled alone.

Waiting.

And once I parked, he would head on over towards our office.

After I opened up, turned off the alarm and put down my things – I’d get my sandwich and give him breakfast.

Every weekday.

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It was 3:30 pm today when I decided I probably needed a coffee – I was sitting yawning with one of the owners.

I grabbed my wallet and headed across the road to the convenience shop.

I knew it – knew it before I even reached him.

I saw ‘something’ in the parking lot and as I got closer, sure enough, there lay Mr. Waddles.

Earlier I had noticed him across the road and mentioned he was being picked on by another pigeon. One of the owners said “He’s going to get hit.”

I didn’t agree – “He’s smart! He can do his chicken fly thing and get out of the way.”

I guess I was wrong.

I turned around and headed back to the office – grabbed a box and went to collect my friend.  I didn’t want him repeatedly hit like he was just any old roadkill.

R.I.P Mr. Waddles.

I looked forward to seeing you every morning – and even if I was just nut and seed wheat bread to you – you meant something to me.

I hope you’re flying now – that your wing is fixed.  In fact, I hope you’re a super roller!

This is for you x