The traditional image of the pigeon fancier, who breeds birds for racing, as carriers or for the beauty of their plumage, is masculine and working-class. Serious pigeon breeders are stereotyped as men who keep coops in backyards or on roofs, and who obsessively cosset their charges.

Chris Sutton, a pigeon racer from Leicester, England, treats his birds as pets. “They just want to be near you,” he told BBC News last year. “They are so intelligent and they all have their own characteristics. To me, pigeons are man’s best friend.”

But pop culture stereotypes those who care about feral pigeons as lonely, homeless women. The old lady of “simple and few” words sentimentalised in Mary Poppins, who survives by selling breadcrumbs for “tuppence a bag”. Or Brenda Fricker as the Central Park pigeon lady in Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, who at first terrifies our hero Kevin but then reveals her humanity and uses her birds to save him from the Wet Bandits. In return, Kevin gives her a Christmas gift of a turtle dove ornament, one of a precious pair symbolising friendship.

One of my former neighbours, an eccentric but generous-hearted lady who’d been living here for years and knew all the neighbourhood gossip, took care of our street pigeons. In summer, she’d leave out water; sometimes she’d defend them against the grumpy man who lived across the laneway, whom she angrily accused of deliberately trying to run them over with his car. She nursed several sick and injured pigeons back to health in her home, feeding them porridge.

She did this because she was an animal lover; she also owned four cats. (I’m not quite sure how they coexisted with her avian patients.) But the poor reputation of feral pigeons dovetails (ahem) with the sexism of the ‘crazy cat lady’ stereotype to create the ‘crazy bird lady’ stereotype. Street pigeons are the ‘rats of the sky’ – scavengers who shit on everything and spread parasites and disease. We laugh when Tom Lehrer reveals his pastime of “poisoning pigeons in the park”; wouldn’t only a very lonely or mentally ill person be drawn to their company?

I noticed the white pigeon was wearing a band on its leg. This means that, at one stage, it was a captive bird. It could have been a homing pigeon that became exhausted or disoriented due to adverse weather, or a show bird that simply got lost outside its coop.

The identifying numbers on these bands are issued by pigeon fancy governing bodies such as the Australian National Pigeon Association. Pigeon fanciers buy the bands in bulk, in ranges of numbers, and fit them to the squabs as they’re raised in order to keep track of individuals within a flock.

Early bands were made of anodised aluminium; in Australia they’ve been made of plastic since 2008. They come in seven different sizes, graded from A to G. The banding process can be tricky, and needs to be done when the squab is 7–10 days old; any longer, and the band may no longer fit over its toes.

Much like council tags for cats and dogs, the issuing colour changes each year; but pigeon tags stay on the bird for its lifetime, meaning they also indicate its age. The white pigeon in my street was wearing a blue tag; this means it was born in 2012. Poor little guy; in captivity, pigeons can live 15 years, and sometimes even longer.

The white pigeon’s tag number is 12B4961. This means the year 2012, size B, number 4961. According to the ANPA, this tag was registered to Meander Valley Pigeon Society in Tasmania. This pigeon was a long way from home. I have the contact details of its owner… but I feel too shy, too afraid of being thought ridiculous, to email the sad news. Or, worse, to call up in my gravest Police Syntax.

“Are you the owner of a two-year-old pigeon, which is perceived to be of white appearance, with prominent black marks across the, uh, wing area? Uh, well, I wish to inform you that, uh, it is believed that this pigeon has been strutting in the road and, uh, has stepped in front of an oncoming vehicle, which has then struck the bird, causing it to, uh, unfortunately, to pass away.”

Do pigeon fanciers care about the fate of one bird when they might easily raise dozens more? I hope they would. In life, it was so handsome that I wonder if it was a show pigeon. I looked up its markings, and it looked quite similar to the Ice Pigeon, a European fancy pigeon. Check it out! What a pidge!

This particular black bar clean leg ice pigeon hen scored an impressive 97 (excellent) at the Zwönitz Show in 2011 for her fancier, Jens Herbert.

I’ve now spent more time researching pigeons than I ever spent with the white pigeon. Still, this little bird’s death has affected me. Bowled over by a car (but not, as I’d feared, by mine), it lay in the street where it fell, alone and ignored.

But I noticed you, little bird. I admired you, even if only for a day. And I’ll remember you, who enlivened my city.