We pass them every day, on pavements, rooftops, and train platforms, hardly giving them more than a dismissive glance. They’re so commonplace in our cities and towns that we’ve stopped seeing them altogether, or worse, we see them as a nuisance. “Rats with wings,” some say, waving them away with irritation, as if they don’t belong here. But the truth is, pigeons not only belong, they’ve been by our side for thousands of years. These gentle, intelligent birds have shared our homes, our skies, and even our wars. If we only took the time to truly look at them, we’d discover that pigeons are anything but pests. They are remarkable beings: thoughtful, complex, and worthy of respect.
Long before they were scorned in the city squares of London or Manchester, pigeons were beloved by emperors and pharaohs. The ancient Egyptians used them to carry messages; the Romans bred them for beauty and companionship. For centuries, pigeons were essential allies to human civilisation, revered for their loyalty, prized for their homing ability, and admired for their calm disposition. And what makes their ability to find their way home so extraordinary is not just instinct but a sophisticated biological system: pigeons have tiny magnetic crystals in their beaks that allow them to detect the Earth’s magnetic field. It functions much like an internal compass, guiding them over hundreds, sometimes thousands, of miles, across unfamiliar terrain, through fog, over oceans and deserts.
Yet that’s only the beginning. Their minds are as impressive as their wings. Pigeons are, quite simply, among the most intelligent creatures on the planet. In laboratory tests, they’ve demonstrated the ability to count, to distinguish between different artistic styles, and even to understand abstract concepts such as time, space, and probability. In one study, pigeons outperformed toddlers in solving a classic logic puzzle. In another, they were shown to recognise all 26 letters of the alphabet and even differentiate between real English words and random strings of letters. Their cognitive skills rival those of primates and, in many ways, surpass those of young human children.
And there’s more: pigeons can recognise themselves in mirrors, a test passed by only a handful of species, including elephants, dolphins, and some great apes. They remember human faces and can distinguish one person from another. They can hear sounds at frequencies well below what humans can detect, called infrasound, which may help them sense distant thunderstorms or even earthquakes. They also see the world in a richer palette than we do: while we perceive three primary colours, pigeons see four, including ultraviolet light. This allows them to see shimmering feather patterns on one another that are completely invisible to us—messages and signals passed in silence, like secret languages in colour and light.
Socially, they are gentle and devoted. Pigeons mate for life. They choose partners with care, build nests together, share in incubating their eggs, and raise their young side by side. Few people know that both male and female pigeons produce a unique substance called crop milk, a thick, protein-rich secretion from the lining of the throat. It is their only food for their hatchlings in the first days of life, and it’s so nutritionally dense that even flamingos and emperor penguins have evolved their own versions. This shared parental care and cooperative spirit speaks volumes about their emotional lives.
They also communicate in subtle but meaningful ways. Pigeons don’t just coo aimlessly—they have different calls for courtship, danger, and territorial defence. They can recognise familiar voices and individual pigeons across distances. Some researchers even suggest that their vocalisations function like simple words, a kind of pigeon language we’ve only just begun to understand.
Their connection to us runs deep. During wartime, they were messengers of hope. In World War I, a pigeon named Cher Ami saved nearly 200 soldiers by delivering a message despite being shot, blinded, and losing a leg. Her bravery earned her medals and a place in history, but she was just one of many. Thousands of pigeons served alongside soldiers, flying through gunfire and storms, never hesitating to return to the hands that raised them.
And yet now, we treat them as vermin. What changed? The truth is, pigeons were domesticated by humans—bred for homing, food, and companionship and when we no longer had use for them, we cast them aside. The birds we see today in our streets and parks are the descendants of abandoned animals. They didn’t invade our cities and towns; we built them around them. They stay close to us because they always have. They recognise our presence, our voices, and our lives. They are still trying to live alongside us, just as they always did.
If a dog or cat had a story like this, a companion turned away and left to fend for itself, we would call it a tragedy. So why not for pigeons? Is it because they’re small or common? Or is it because we’ve forgotten their worth?
Pigeons don’t need much from us. A handful of oats or seeds. A clean bowl of water. A safe place to land. But more than that, they need understanding. They need us to stop treating them as pests and start seeing them for what they are: intelligent, social, emotionally rich beings who have shared our journey through history.
The next time a pigeon struts past you or settles on a windowsill, don’t shoo it away. Look again. Look closely. You’re looking at a creature that can fly faster than a car, find its way across continents, count, remember faces, raise a family, and survive in a world that has all but turned its back on it.
The nurse who took this photo said,
“This patient was admitted three days ago… and not a single family member has come to visit or care for him.”
She captured the moment after noticing a pigeon flying in every other day, gently landing on the hospital bed of this elderly, critically ill man.
Later, the staff discovered the reason:
The old man used to feed this pigeon every day while sitting on a park bench near the hospital.
And now, in his time of greatest need, the bird had come back to visit him.
You’re not looking at a pest.
You’re looking at a miracle.
