You can't make this stuff up

My goodness, we are piling up interesting experiences like so much Mid-Western snow of this past winter. This little vignette happened on Tuesday, April 30th, and felt like a scene out of a comic British novella.

One of the ancient edifices in Oxford is the Tower of St. Michael's at the Northgate. I think it dates from something like 1083 (give or take), but you get the picture. Oooooooold. And you can climb to the top and have a great bird's-eye view of the city.

Speaking of birds, it becomes apparent, as you climb towards the top, that pigeons really like this place. There are, um, pieces of evidence scattered liberally that suggest a pigeon's presence. Many pigeons' presences.

Greg and I went to the top, enjoyed the view, and started our way back down. When you're almost to the base (after you've been to the top), you enter this small room that holds a few cases  of books and artifacts. It overlooks the sanctuary of St. Michael's church. I noticed, as we arrived in that room, that the rector of the church was walking out, with a long-handled duster in his hands, and I thought "Well, there's a multi-tasking man of God." As we began to look at the display cases, a lovely unusually-colored pigeon flew in and alighted on the window sill.

Creature-lover that I am, I thought, cool! We said hello and let her be. Soon, a kind woman with a priestly collar arrived in the room. Her goal, we discovered: Catch the pigeon. Get it out to freedom and fresh air. Somehow it had found its way inside. But as I mentioned, pigeons are not house-broken, so they really can't stay inside! The woman cleric seemed to have a kind and animal-friendly heart. And really, so did the rector, but as he reentered with his duster/pigeon-prodder, his hand - as it were - was a bit clumsy. For the next five minutes or so, the four of us tried to capture the poor frightened bird. To no avail. The rector flailed and beat at it like a dusty carpet, and I worried if the poor thing would survive the trauma! Greg tried to gently cover it with a tea towel. It fluttered from window sill to bookshelf, stirring up dust that had probably sat there for many years. The room began to get a bit cloudy, like an Anglican service with too much incense. Finally, we were able to get the pigeon from the confines of this small and dusty room to the larger sanctuary. Safe (in my mind) from the rector and his combative duster. I commented, as we got the bird to the sanctuary, "Boy, if that was the Holy Spirit (as is so often seen in Scripture, as a bird, a dove), the Lord is probably wondering, 'What the heck are ya doing there, trying to whack the Holy Ghost!" Compared to that, the rest of the day was uneventful.