11.23.19

i was back at the bird hospital for the first time in three months today. they probably didn't need me; they lacked volunteers in the morning and evening, but three of the four slots in the afternoon were filled. i offered to clean the isolation ward, which is my customary power move, but the staffers asked me to give pigeons baths* instead, which is fine. i'm great at giving pigeons baths! rosa, one of the center's two house grackles, assumed a decidedly feline loaf position over my left shoulder as i sat on a bin of ferret food and gave a formerly-tanglefoot-addled pigeon a post-bath blowout. we're not supposed to talk to patients, but rosa is a permanent resident, and it is delightful to squeeble with her; she raises the feathers on the back of her head if you make a solid point. one of the pigeons i bathed and dried started stargazing — a lovely term that, sadly, describes a likely neurological disorder — and the staffers hastened to tell me that the stress of getting the bath probably revealed the pigeon's issues, it wasn't my fault, goodness. i saw the hospital's founder a few minutes later: "it's been a while!" i wanted to and did not hug her. a guy who was filming the hospital for reasons i never asked about came and got me giving another pigeon a bath; i pushed an old broom aside so he'd have a clear shot. i don't know if he wanted me to narrate my bird-washing procedure, but he left after a few minutes and i was glad.

*the pigeons i bathed were covered with tanglefoot, an ostensible perching-bird deterrent that cripples those birds.