Sad to say, the most humane thing to do would be to wring the unfortunate pigeon’s neck. That was the advice of Ro, whose office it was sitting outside; but in fact he was overruled and the others rang the RSPCA. By the time the officer arrived, the pigeon had keeled over – not sure if it was already dead, but apparently he looked pretty bemused, shook his head and left. Death was pretty well inevitable – a wing doesn’t break itself and it had obviously been through a traumatic time already. Besides, it was a feral town pigeon and they are, actually, vermin. Ro asked his boss if he’d have phoned the RSPCA if it had been an injured rat?
But on humanitarian grounds, that isn’t the point. When a wild creature is badly injured it’s under considerable stress and possibly in great pain. It is very unlikely to live. Be brave and do the decent thing and kill it.
Anyhoo, the Sage is home and terribly excited to see me. He phoned me in the middle of my lunch meeting – I was sorry to have to turn the phone off unanswered, but really… “Sorry, I didn’t know the time”, he said. “It was lunch time” I said fruitily.
This evening, I cooked him a lovely dinner. He has poured me several glasses of wine and brought me ice-cream and coffee. He has also kissed me. We are very happy to be together again. I held things together pretty well in his absence, and hardly any disasters happened.
The worst one was that I thought my library books were due back today, rather than last week. I owe 70p per book. 9 books. Blimey.
On a book theme, I’m presently reading The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga, which won the Booker last year. Any of you read it? Especially my Indian friends? It’s pretty cynical about India – I’d be very interested to know what you think. I’m halfway through at present so haven’t reached a conclusion, in either sense, myself.