She was plied with some booze, tons of food, and then inundated with gifts that leaned heavily toward one of two directions: weapons, or office supply items. Because both things still perfectly suited her.

Once everyone had fully celebrated her, they started to head out and I snuck upstairs to the library to take her present out of its new home and gently place it back in the box that had arrived at the post office earlier that afternoon.

It had been picked up by T, who stuck it in the library for me, to help me keep the secret.

“I know, bud,” I said as he cooed at me, annoyed to go back in his shipping box. “Just two more minutes, I promise.”

With that, I closed the cardboard box and carried it out of the library.

“Close your eyes for me, darlin’,” I demanded.

“Hold on. Let me get to the couch,” she called, her voice a little high and airy, her excitement evident. “Okay. I’m ready.”

I carefully made my way down the stairs then set the box on the coffee table in front of her.

“Okay. Open.”

She looked up at me before she noticed the box on the table.

“No!” she said, eyes round, lips parted. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did.”

Of course, I did.

How could I not?

I constantly found her scrolling for rescue pigeons on her phone. She fell in love with each of them, telling me their stories, talking about how cute they were.

For the first few months, I’d tried to find her her very own New York City sick or needy pigeon.

Eventually, though, I had to go with the rescue she followed online.

And so, now we were a family of three.

Saff seemed about to burst out of her skin as she lunged at the box, then carefully pushed the lid down to loosen it.

“Oh, hey! Hey, baby,” she cooed at the black and white pigeon with a tiny splash of green on his neck. “Oh, I know you! You’re Dominic.”

Yes, he was.

“You were found on your side in an underpass in Chicago. You little survivor, you.”

“You can touch him. He’s friendly.”

“Can I?” she asked the pigeon as she offered her hands.

He tilted his head then stepped right into them.

“You’re home now, baby,” she told him as she carefully lifted him. “We’re going to give you such a special life. No more streets for you.”

Her eyes filled again.

“Thank you,” she said, sniffling hard as the pigeon hopped out of her hand to fly over to her shoulder. “We have so many things to buy.”

“He has an enclosure. Ledges. Food and water dishes. Soft beds. Seed. Red grit. Oh, and a few of those diaper things, so he doesn’t mess up the whole apartment.”

“You… planned.”

“I researched and planned for months.”