Kindness Is Like Snow

“Mom, look what I've found,” my son Adam said as we hurried through the park. I didn’t pay much attention to him because I was too busy thinking and planning, constantly checking my to-do list for this afternoon. Buy a present for my niece for tomorrow’s wedding, buy Adam a new suit, take Adam to my mom’s place because she needs help with her laptop, and somehow make it to the very important meeting with the client. The list felt endless.

“Mom?!” His urgent voice cut through my thoughts, and I finally looked at him. He stood in the snow, pointing at something on the ground. I took a few steps toward him to look more closely. I was a little horrified to see what looked like a small crime scene. There was blood and a few small gray feathers in the snow. I noticed bird footprints and a blood trail leading away from the spot.

“It was probably a cat that caught a bird and took it away,” I said, trying to sound certain. “There’s nothing we can do. Just don’t look at it. It looks horrible.” I kept my eyes averted from the blood and tried to pull Adam back onto the path.

“But if it were dead, there wouldn’t be a bird footprint leading away! It must be hurt. We have to help it!” my son insisted. When did he become so smart? I know he is already fourteen, but everything was easier when he was a little kid.

“We don’t have time for that, honey. We have to buy you a new suit,” I said, trying to persuade him to let it go.

“I can wear my old one,” he suggested, but I shook my head no. “You’ve outgrown that.” A tight knot formed in my chest at the thought of him standing at the wedding in the old, too-small suit. I could already feel the pitying, judgmental glances from relatives, as if I were a mother who couldn’t afford to buy her son new clothes.

“It’s completely fine. I don’t want a new one,” he said firmly. “This is a matter of life and death.” He pointed again toward the crime scene, refusing to leave.

“Fine, you can follow the footprint trail,” I finally agreed, seeing my son’s determination and pleading eyes. He thanked me enthusiastically and started running along the trail.

“I found it. It’s a pigeon!” He pointed under a nearby bush where the pigeon was probably hiding. He leaned toward it.

“Don’t touch it!” I yelled, and he stopped immediately. “Pigeons carry many diseases; you can’t touch them with your bare hands,” I explained, justifying the sudden yelling.

“That’s not entirely true. The risk of transmitting the disease to a person is very low. Did you know there’s a higher chance of catching a disease from people on the subway than from pigeons in the city?” he asked, grinning.

“Don’t touch it anyway.” His argument made some sense, but I didn’t want to take the risk. “I will call the police, and they will catch it and transport it to the shelter,” I said, even though I didn’t know if there was any shelter that cared for pigeons.

“You can’t do that. Pigeons are overpopulated. They won’t try to save it; they’ll probably kill it instead! Did you know pest-control companies catch and kill pigeons all the time?” he asked as I stared at him in disbelief.

“Well, it makes sense, even if it’s a little cruel. They are overpopulated; that’s just a fact. What should they do with them instead?” My question was meant to be rhetorical, but Adam started to answer anyway.

“The only ethical way to reduce their population is to build urban dovecotes and replace their eggs with dummy eggs,” he said, and I looked at him a little skeptically. “It doesn’t stress them; they will sit on the dummies for three weeks, and then they will naturally abandon them,” he added.

“How is it possible that you know so much about pigeons?” I asked him, trying to understand how a 14-year-old boy could know so much. He just shrugged.

“Because I love pigeons and I think they are amazing,” he explained simply. “I started reading about them after I saw them nesting on grandma's balcony.” He paused for a moment, reminiscing nostalgically.

“People used to love them, too. We domesticated them and then abandoned them because we no longer needed them,” he added sadly. Then he smiled again. “Did you know pigeons were vital in wartime, delivering messages?”

“That’s interesting,” I said, even though I already knew it.

“So… Could we take this poor pigeon to the vet?” he asked, and I blinked at him in disbelief.

“You want to take that to the vet?” I couldn’t believe my ears, but Adam just nodded as if it were the obvious thing to do.

“I will go to that shop over there to ask for a paper box and to buy birdseed or something for the pigeon,” Adam said, pointing to the nearby shop. “Keep an eye on it,” he added, then ran off before I had a chance to protest.

I looked at the pigeon for the first time. It was curled up on the ground, hidden behind the thick branches of the yew bush. Its wing was bloodstained, as if something were lodged in it. It stared at me, distrustful and frightened, yet too tired to move.

“Don’t look at me like that. Because of you, Adam won’t get a new suit, and we won’t have time to buy my niece an original wedding gift,” I said reproachfully, but the pigeon didn’t care. I sighed, pulled my phone from my pocket, and ordered a gift basket for delivery the next morning.

“This will have to do,” I said to the pigeon, wondering why I was talking to it at all.

“I have the box and oat flakes.” Adam returned, showing me what he had bought. He caught the bird with almost professional ease, put it in the box, and gave it the oat flakes. Even though it was tired, it started pecking at them.

Adam looked around, then tossed some oat flakes to the nearby flock of pigeons as well. I looked at him in shock.

“What are you doing? There is a ban on feeding pigeons throughout the whole city,” I reprimanded him, but he just grinned. “That’s why I looked around. If no one sees me, there is no crime.”

“That’s not funny; you can get fined for it.” I couldn’t handle the fact that my son was doing something illegal, even though this is probably better than drinking alcohol or using drugs.

“I know, but they are starving in the winter. Did you know pigeons breed even when they are starving? So banning feeding them doesn’t actually help with overpopulation,” he explained.

“And now to the vet.” He started walking, gently holding the box with the pigeon. I couldn’t argue with him, seeing his determination and compassion for pigeons.

“Did you know pigeons can recognize themselves in a mirror?”

I just sighed. These facts were starting to get annoying.

***

We spent several hours at the vet clinic, and I’m not talking about the cost. I don't think anyone would spend that much on a wild bird, especially a pigeon. Its wing was shot by an air gun, and it will take a long time to heal. However, it probably won’t ever fly again.

I agreed to keep it at home until its wing heals. Then we will see what happens next, but it probably won’t be released into the wild.

I had to reschedule the client meeting and let my mother know Adam won’t be visiting today. Looking back, it was kind of funny how much I changed our plans just because of the pigeon.

We were on our way home when the snow began to fall. It was already dark outside, which wasn’t surprising, since the sun goes down around 4 PM in winter. Darkness and snow were always the worst combination for me, but tonight they felt gentler, almost pleasant.

I watched snowflakes fall and glisten in the streetlight's glow, and I felt the cold as they melted on my face. I heard children laughing and playing in the snow, and the crunch of snow beneath my feet with every step. I smelled cinnamon, clove, and red wine from the nearby stands selling sweet pastries and mulled wine. For the first time all day, everything felt so peaceful.

I looked at Adam, who proudly held the box. He was smiling, satisfied with the rescue. Seeing him that happy made me completely forget about the money or my unfinished to-do list.

My gaze fell on the pigeon curled up in the box. It didn’t look as frightened or distrustful as it had before. I saw gratitude and peace in its eyes. It tilted its head and looked at me. Then I could swear it smiled, even though I know birds can’t do that. I smiled back.

“Did you know pigeons can recognize faces and have favorite people?” Adam said, and I started laughing. “I do now.”