At 6.21am, they arrive.
From nowhere, the birds churn up the morning calm – 200 or so flapping wings chaotically pounding the air on the small central Sydney balcony. Just inside the sliding door, Snowy, a little corella whose shrill call sounds like a 1990s telephone, has quietened down: the pigeons have heeded his call.
Here, away from Kings Cross’s bin trucks and bars, the birds are safe, admired and fed. Next to guano-spattered monstera and a tub of water, the crowd pecks and pushes, clearing almost 2kg of seed mix from the tiles in a matter of seconds.
For 40 years, Dale Edwards has cared for the same flock of pigeons, descended from a group of 14 racing pigeons he paid to liberate from cages on a farm in Victoria.
“They followed me wherever I walked,” the 59-year-old says. Eventually, he walked from Melbourne to Sydney, his flying entourage tree-hopping beside him, he says.
About 200 generations later, the flock of about 130 birds – now more genetically mixed – nests on a building across the road from his base in Kings Cross and its London plane trees. Every day, twice a day, from about the age of two weeks to a year old, they turn up after sunrise and lunch. Females usually breed every three months but are sensitive to environmental flux – after the 2019-20 bushfires, Edwards noticed fewer babies.
Along the way, Edwards has become the man locals turn to when they find an injured pigeon, sometimes referred on by the animal welfare groups that don’t generally deal with what are regarded as feral species.
“If you find a hurt bird, bring it to me,” he says. “There’s a 90% chance I can save his life.”
The pigeons have become so habituated to him that they will return to the balcony to die.
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Edwards was four when he saw someone flick a bird’s nest off a roof in his home city of Nelson, New Zealand.
“I could hear the peep, peep, peep. I ran over and picked it up – I didn’t know the word, but I thought ‘You bastard.’”
As a child, his Scottish grandfather told him that the love of his life was Cher Ami. He had no idea who Cher Ami was until, many years later, he looked the name up and learned about the much-decorated carrier pigeon whose first world war message deliveries saved scores of troops’ lives. The story’s veracity is besides the point: his connection with birds is also his connection to goodness.
He says he left New Zealand at 14, running from abuse and violence and has since rescued many animals – although never crocodiles: “They have real deep magic.
“I have a lot more time and trust for animals than I do for humans,” he says. “My mum, she’s a Scottish Methodist, she said, ‘If something falls at your feet, help it.’ I’ve tried as hard as I can to be a decent human being my whole life.”
He turns to Snowy, whose past has its own share of misadventure.
Snowy, a twitchy character, can be excused for his volatility: he was kept by illicit drug makers in Coogee who tested their lab-cooked ice on him, injecting it directly into the bird, Edwards says. When Snowy arcs up, Edwards turns on his most gentle voice and repeats “big love”, the words an instant sedative.
“To have him now, like this, it opened my heart up,” he says.
Chucky Chucker, a friendlier Eolophus roseicapilla, or pink galah, perches in a cage opposite Snowy’s. Edwards chokes up as he recalls finding him as a matchbox-sized baby under the wings of his mother who had been covered in pink fire retardant during bushfires in northern New South Wales in 2004.
But the help for the birds couldn’t come without help from Edwards’ friend Letitia Sanchez, 51, whose flat has become their sanctuary. The pair met at Rough Edges cafe and community hub on Victoria Road and Sanchez, who lives with trauma, credits the birds’ routines and needs with giving her reason to stay alive.
Twenty-kilo sacks of Avi Grain pigeon mix and parrot mix are stacked on Sanchez’s living room floor. A chest of drawers below the TV houses a giant tub of pre-mixed seed. A kitchen cupboard is given over to avian multivitamins with moulting formula, disinfectant, water treatment and a large bottle of F10SC veterinary disinfectant, which they use as air purifier. Otherwise, the birds have the run of the place – a large branch hangs as a perch, white droppings on the sofa below.
At night, Edwards will take his tent to the grounds of the NSW Users and Aids Association, or unfurl his swag here, on the living room floor, under the watch of Snowy and Chucky.
Edwards’ stories are a kaleidoscope of derring-do, crime, justice, neglect, abuse, trauma, affection and love. That love shapes this small moment in a large city – the creatures that are often seen as a nuisance and a blight are, to others, a lifeline.
“They’ve given me my humanity back, my smile. I don’t trust anyone – and I’ll never change.” He turns to kiss Chucky. “This bird gives me purpose.”
Sanchez nods.
“Without these birds, he’d probably be in jail,” she says. “From my side, I’d probably be dead.”
• In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is 13 11 14. In the UK and Ireland, Samaritans can be contacted on freephone 116 123, or email jo@samaritans.org or jo@samaritans.ie. In the US, you can call or text the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline on 988, chat on 988lifeline.org, or text HOME to 741741 to connect with a crisis counsellor. Other international helplines can be found at befrienders.org
