Something about the phrase “pet pigeon” just seems wrong on so many levels. We prefer this new phrase we’ve coined: “white trash parrot”.

My wife Cyn and I have been doing the “foster and find homes” thing for animals (mostly dogs and cats) for years now. Sometimes, however, we only get the process half right: Our dogs “Arlo” and “Hedge” were rescues who never left. And I swear that “Mr Giles,” our rescue bunny who’s been with us for like a thousand years, will eventually outlive anyone reading this.

A few months back, we came into possession of two local orphan pigeons. I still say they’re just “rats with feathers”, but I have to admit the helpless little things were kinda cute. My wife got to work boiling down chicken mash, and we both helped with the regular hand feedings of “Ren and Stimpy” (their placeholder names.)

One of the “squabs” – yes, they’re technically called that even if you don’t eat them – didn’t make it. Cyn checked with local feed stores and was told that there are like twenty different things that might have have went wrong, none of them our fault. The bird was just a fragile little baby animal. This is likely also why pigeons breed like, ahem, rats.

BeakerSo we’re down to one big, fat, healthy bird. Cyn calls him “Pierre” (if you say “Pierre Pigeon” with a bad French accent, she swears it’s funny.) Me, I just call him “Beaker”. (Me being a diehard Muppet fan, and because “Beaker” just seemed to fit.) We’d like to release him into the wild, but we’re not sure if he’s too used to humans or not.

I checked with a local wildlife rescue organization. They said, “Well, as long as he’s not too tame, you can let him go.” I said, “Uhm…if I open his cage door, he follows us around the house and flies onto my head. He’s *sorta* tame.”

So I think he’s ours. And I’ve been told they can live to be twenty years old. Swell.

Note: Beaker’s on my shoulder as I write this. He approves this post.