Fyodor 1 (original) (Harvard University, Cambridge, USA) (2024) Peinture par Elodie M. Richard

« Today is the fourth anniversary of my beloved Fyodor Dostoevsky's death. He was tragically run over and died in my arms that evening. I had an intensely close bond with Fyodor since the moment we met, when he was so overwhelmed that I had put out such a gigantic spread of healthy bird snacks, that he flew up and hung in the air hovering in front of my face, then went back to the ground only to fly up again and hang in the air in front of my face again, and back down again. He did this four times in a row and then landed on my shoulder. We became inseparable from that moment on. He was the very first feral Rock dove to ever land on me or jump in my arms when he had just freshly fledged about a week or two prior. He was insanely jealous and would not tolerate any other birds trying to land on me. When it was time to munch, l'd first clean all of the poop off of the sidewalk before covering the sidewalk with food for the rest of the flock plus all the other little birds, and then I had two heaping handfuls just for Fyodor. He would jump in my arms, l'd give him kisses, and then he'd jump back down and begin chasing all of the other birds who were trying to munch. He'd peck them in the face and try to eat all of their food before jumping back in my arms to eat his two handfuls. I'd tell him why that wasn't fair but he didn't want anyone else having any of my attention. We also had a special telepathic communication. Whenever I needed him to do something, I never had to finish my sentences. I'd get two or three words out of a much longer sentence and he would automatically do whatever I was about to tell him. When he showed up one day with severe stringfoot on both feet with string connecting his feet together.

I said, "Fyodor, come stand perfectly still right here so l can get that shit off of your feet." He came over, stood directly in front of me, and held perfectly still while I removed most of the hair and string. When I paused to examine his feet again, he backed up and I said, "Nope, we have to do it again." So he stepped back up and held perfectly still while I removed the rest of it. »

« When I paused to examine his feet again, he backed up and I said, "Nope, we have to do it again." So he stepped back up and held perfectly still while I removed the rest of it. When I was finished, I said to him, "Fyodor! You're free!
Come on up!" He backed up, took a running start, and jumped in my arms. He jumped back down and jumped back up three times in a row, just because he could again. There was a huge pile of tourists watching in disbelief, snapping photos. Since I was homeless at the time, l couldn't take Fyodor indoors and keep him there for as long as it would take to disinfect his wounds where the hair had been tied so tightly around his toes, bandage up his feet, and keep him there until they healed, so his feet always looked a bit mangled from that moment on and he was deeply self-conscious about it which caused him to humble greatly...

No longer did he try to terrorize the rest of the birds when they were munching. He also slowly began tolerating other Rock doves jumping in my arms, starting with two of his brothers, Sören Kierkegaard and Niels Bohr, and soon after he also began allowing my girl, Boltzmann to be in my arms, as well. Eventually, it didn't matter who was in my arms; they were all coming up together. However, Fyodor had serious OCD and had to be on my left arm and all of the other birds knew it so if they were already in my arms when Fyodor jumped up, they would all automatically shift positions so that Fyodor could be on my left arm. I'm grateful I got to witness him become a fantastic father, though I never actually saw him with a mate, so it must have been a one time thing because all I know is he disappeared for two weeks and when he returned, he had a female fledgling who looked exactly like him and he was showing her how to be a pigeon. They were inseparable until she was ready to make it own her own. Her name is Isabelle...

Toward the end of his life, he had a series of minor wing injuries while trying to get up into his home so he began losing his ability to get up high enough to get on the ledge or the roofs of buildings. Because he couldn't get up on the ledge and spend time with the rest of the flock, he began spending less time with us during the day. But because I had given him such a ration of shite for disappearing for the last two weeks before his baby fledged, because when he initially returned, I mistook the baby for a mate and told him that he didn't have to spend all day with me but I did have to at least see his face once a day to know that he was okay, he never missed a day again. He started arriving late in the afternoon for a nice long munch and some lovins and then we'd go on a daily walk together so l could make sure he got up into his nest for the night. He'd take me through Harvard Yard and show me all of his new favourite places to go that were low to the ground. He'd romp in the grass and sniff the flowers and people started asking,
"Isn't that the same bird I saw you walking with yesterday?"... »

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