It’s April 2024, and I am bent over a bleeding pigeon. Beneath one wing, hidden in the soft downy feathers, is a mound of congealed blood. I know what’s beneath that—a crater-like hole, torn open by the impact of a metal projectile fired at speed. Despite the wound, the size of a 50-pence piece, the pigeon is alert, his eyes wide with terror. I hope the pain relief from the vet kicks in soon.
I am in a box-sized industrial unit, the small but vital base of Greenwich Wildlife Network, the animal rescue charity I founded in 2018 to rehabilitate injured wildife. The bird sprawled on the table is just one of many. He was shot with a catapult just hours ago.
