I've had so many failed animal rescue attempts in the past that these few and far between successes are blog-worthy, in my opinion.
I found an injured/sick/old pigeon across the street from the PATH station on the way to work this morning and, as per usual, couldn't walk away. I was soon joined by a young woman with as bloody a bleeding heart as mine and together we wrung our hands, watching the pigeon breathe laboriously.
She called her mother while I called information for animal control. We both hung up at around the same time, with her mother suggesting we call animal control and animal control pulling a "We're-currently-closed" on me. We both agreed that one of us should run to the veterinarian's office across the street and ask them for advice.
The girl ran. I stayed by the pigeon and told it to hang in there. Pedestrians walking past us gave me suspicious, sidelong glances. I tried other animal control offices in the city and continued talking to the pigeon while on hold.
The girl came back with a box and a towel.
"If you can get the little guy in the box, we'll take him in," the vet had promised her.
We both cooed to the pigeon as we worked together to put him in the box. The pigeon is now at the vet's office. I'll check in on him (or her) this afternoon.
Another animal saved. Phew.