A few years ago I was sitting in a pub beer garden when a scruffy little pigeon landed on the bench. After a while, the pigeon edged a bit closer to me, and before I knew it she’d hopped on to my lap.
One of the waitresses came over and explained that this pigeon had wandered inside, but sadly some customers kicked her around to get rid of her. She looked quite young. I thought maybe she was a baby. For the next three hours, this pigeon didn’t leave my side. Then I drove home with her on my shoulder.
My mum had a cat carrier ready to house the pigeon, so we got some bird seed and a hot water bottle. We thought: if she doesn’t make it, at least we’ve given her a nice last night. The next day, she seemed a lot better. When we gave her a bath I could see how wounded she was in her chest from being kicked.
I documented the entire thing on my phone. I compiled all the footage together and put it online, asking for advice (I’d never rescued a bird before!). The video went viral, people fell in love with her, and – via public vote – the internet even named her Penny.
Every day I attempted to release her. She would just circle the garden, stay within eyesight, and then fly straight back to my shoulder. I tried to introduce her to other pigeons, but she wasn’t feeling it. I even became friends with a pigeon fancier, who trains pigeons, and we set her up with an older male pigeon called Grandad. We put them in a cage together, but Penny would try to get out. If he tried to step nearer, she’d wing-slap him.
She had clearly imprinted on me. We built her an aviary so she could have a nice time outside, safe from predators. At night, she lived in my room in a big parrot cage.
Penny was always with me. I’d be doing my hair or makeup, and all of a sudden, I’d have this pigeon on my shoulder. I taught her tricks so she could recognise flash cards and spin on command. She would loaf on my lap, and I would tickle her head, like a cat. On her birthday – the anniversary of her rescue - I made her a tiny cake (actually bread) designed to look like a Victoria sponge.
Penny had a really happy life for a year and a half until she got poorly. She had an abscess on her liver. After she died, I connected with two women online who said we should do something in Penny’s memory, so we set up Penny’s Pigeon Aid to change the narrative around pigeons. They are so misjudged: they’re incredibly intelligent, loyal and affectionate. Just like Penny was. I was never lonely while she was in my life.
As told to Ann Lee
