Sitting outside yesterday morning, drinking my coffee, I noticed a bird in the bushes outside my apartment’s front window. The bird wasn’t doing much, just poking his beak into the mulch. Looking for food, I guess.
I gave the bird little thought. He’ll be on his way soon enough.
I went inside. Half an hour later I came outside again, the bird was still there, this time huddled in a ball behind the bushes.

Was he hurt? He didn’t seem to be in any distress. He was just chilling.
Sometimes, he’d get up and waddle to some other location, then cocoon back into a little bird ball.
I went to the grocery store.

When I came back, the bird had moved. No longer was he behind my bushes. He was now exploring the grass in front of them, between my apartment and the sidewalk.

I went back to the grocery store–I had forgotten to get anything for dinner when I was there, like a maroon–and this time when I came back the bird was at the sidewalk.

The grocery store is a mile away. Not a big deal.
I went inside, and when I came out later, the bird was again in my bushes. This time, my photography clearly irritated him, because he took flight.

This was a lucky shot. I would never consciously be able to take a photo of a bird taking off.
He flew into one of the trees outside my apartment building. I took photos. He gave me a death stare.

I had a good thing going! You schmuck, you had to ruin it by coming outside and looking at me!
An hour later, the bird was still in the tree, still chilling. Clearly tired of my shit, he flew off to another tree, at the other end of the building.
Now outside someone else‘s apartment, if the bird was in fact sick, injured, or dying, he was no longer my problem.
That death stare, though! Yeah, I did not make a friend.
That appears to be a pigeon of some form and while they’re pretty, I don’t believe any version of a pigeon has been blessed with a wealth of intelligence.