A Pigeon in the Road

We were on our way to the beach, the whole family. It was a warm and beautiful day, and the road we were walking along was quiet.

The children were busy watching the hens clucking around in the hollow below the road. We should have brought bread for them, they said.

In the roadway beside us, a grey pigeon hopped carefully. Out there lay a piece of bread someone had thrown from a car window. The pigeon pecked at it hungrily. The children asked if it was the same pigeon that lived on the roof of our summer house—the one that cooed so close by when we woke up in the mornings. A good sound. A reminder of the life surrounding us.

The trees and bushes around the road were completely still, without breath, without a sound. A distant hum of an engine broke the silence. The sound came closer.

As the car rounded the bend, we saw the driver’s eyes; we saw them catch sight of the pigeon in the road. We breathed a little easier.

Instead of braking, he pressed hard on the accelerator and sped up. The pigeon turned its head toward the sky and flapped its wings. It saw the danger and thought there was enough time.

Its long wings beat for more air, more lift, but it was not fast enough. A sharp thud cut through the silence—the pigeon hit the windshield first, then slid down along the side of the car. The driver continued on, unaffected, in the small red car. He made no move to stop, showed no sign of regret or compassion.

A few seconds later, the car was just a faint hum in the distance. The pigeon in the road lifted its head and looked up with dark eyes. It flapped a little with one wing, as if trying to find its way back to the air it once lived in. Then it seemed to understand. The restless wing stilled against the hard asphalt, its eyes closed, and its head sank softly toward the ground. It took only a few seconds before its chest stopped rising and falling.

“Why didn’t he stop? Why did he do that?” the children asked, and we couldn’t answer. Because this was not an accident, a sad occurrence that could not have been avoided.

But perhaps that was what we told our children.

I remembered what we saw that day when I found a pigeon in the road again today. It died shortly after I found it. This time it may have been an accident. I hope so.

But what was it that time? Why did he do it?

Perhaps because the pigeon was in the way—
in his way