Operation Pigeon Toe: To most of us they're 'flying vermin'. But to some, they're helpless creatures in dire need of rescue from the vast amount of human hair on our streets that wraps around their legs and cripples them

On a wooden bench in a park in east London, a little operating theatre is being set up. Antiseptic creams, powders, sterile swabs, tweezers, nail scissors and a pair of blue latex gloves.

Complex surgery is set to begin. But first Jacob Peter, the medic, whispers to the bundle swaddled in a green tea towel on his lap.

‘It’s OK, darling. This won’t take long. You’re so brave,’ he says giving it a stroke and a little kiss. ‘You’re doing so well. I’m going to help you. It will stop the pain.’

Then he looks up and talks to me.

‘I always introduce myself before I start and explain what I’m doing because I think it might be calming for them.’

Jacob is about to operate on a small female pigeon that Jennie Brennan, his partner and co-founder of London Pigeon Rescue (LPR), has just scooped from the scrubby grass. While the rest of the flock were busy flapping and cooing and pecking and pooing, this little hen – probably about four years old – looked all wrong; struggling and unsteady on her feet.

Like tens of thousands of pigeons in Britain, she is suffering from string foot. Which is a horribly painful condition where a bird’s toes and feet become tangled in fibres – everything from artificial thread to dental floss and wool, but most of all human hair.

While all birds can suffer from it, pigeons, who walk in circles and are ground feeders, are particularly vulnerable.

Jane Fryer shines a light on the plight of pigeons in Britain that suffer from string foot. Jane the pigeon was treated by London Pigeon Rescue for the painful condition

Jacob Peter feeds a small female pigeon with Jennie Brennan, his partner and co-founder of LPR, by his side

As they move, the tourniquet tightens and tightens, slicing into the skin until it bleeds and becomes infected, cutting off the circulation, causing the foot to become deformed and, in very severe cases, the toes go black and fall off.

Our little bird has double string foot – which means both feet are damaged. They are red and swollen and you can see where hair has cut deep into the skin which bulges angrily either side.

‘Sometimes, it’s the whole foot. Both feet!’ says Jennie. ‘And then they’re staggering around on stumps.’ All of which is quite a shock. Not just the very gruesome details about their gangrenous toes – apologies if you are eating your breakfast.

But the fact that almost all string foot is caused by hair. Human and artificial hair that blows out of the doors of hairdressers and barbers and scatters down the streets like balls of tumbleweed. Clumps we pull out of hairbrushes and chuck away without thinking. Hair we shed as we walk.

Even worse, very few people seem to know about it – I certainly didn’t. And even fewer want to do anything about it.

Other than Jennie and Jacob of LPR and a small smattering of similar groups around Britain – such as Happy Feet in Glasgow and Manchester Pigeon Rehab. All battling with tweezers, nail scissors and antiseptic cream against this national epidemic. And also, I’m sorry to say, a barrage of anti-pigeon sentiment. Because, as Jennie puts it, very few feel neutral about pigeons.

‘They tend to really love them, like us. Or really, really hate them,’ she says. She’s right. But Jennie puts the loathing down to misconceptions, ignorance and pest control propaganda.

‘There’s a deeply ingrained belief that they are super spreaders of disease, which is not true. You’re more likely to catch something from someone on public transport. It’s madness. And very sad.’

For Jennie and Jacob, it all started in 2022 when he was working for a bird rescue charity in London and Jennie, who works as a nanny, found a pigeon in distress and called its hotline.

Discovering a common passion, Jennie was soon shadowing Jacob in her spare time.

Learning how to identify those suffering – those struggling to sit or walk without limping. How to triage a poorly flock – always treat the double string-footed birds first. How to catch them – by gently scooping them as they feed. And the intricacies of de-stringing them, which can take hours. Before long, and rather beautifully, they fell in love.

A year later, they set up LPR, partly to respond to distress calls from the public but also to help publicise the problem, educate people and raise funds for medicine, seeds and equipment.

‘We’d pay for it all if we could but we are not rich,’ says Jennie. They are though lovely, gentle people and their commitment and tender touch is extraordinary. By Jacob’s reckoning, to date they have rescued more than 10,000 pigeons.

Jennie feeds a pigeon from her hand. She puts anti-pigeon sentiment down to misconceptions, ignorance and pest control propaganda

As he begins today’s park bench surgery, delicately dousing the swollen feet in antiseptic and gently unwinding the reams of hair pulled deep into the skin around the toes, Jennie watches with tears in her eyes and tells me why she loves pigeons. And why we should all give them a chance.

‘They are not vermin. They are sentient beings which feel pain and fear and are monogamous – mating for life,’ she says. She is not sure if they feel grief but tells me she saw one bird, dead on the floor in the middle of a flock and on its back was its mate. Perched forlornly on the stiff little body.

‘It looked like it was grieving. But maybe I’m projecting.’

On another occasion, after she’d spent an hour doing a tricky de-stringing, instead of flying off, the patient perched on her shoulder for about ten minutes as she untangled another bird. ‘When I was finished it fed from my hand,’ she says. ‘I think it knew it was in a place of safety.’ There is no doubt pigeons (who in good conditions can live for 15 years) are intelligent. There have been endless scientific studies about their brain power.

We all know about their amazing homing skills and how, during the Second World War, pigeons played a vital role in delivering messages when radio communications were disrupted – many were awarded the Dickin Medal for bravery.

And we should never forget our enormous feral pigeon population is down to us. They are all descendants of domesticated pigeons. ‘I understand that people might not like them. But please don’t be actively hostile to them,’ says Jennie.

Or, even worse, lash out at her and Jacob. Because while some kind people spot their hi-vis waistcoats with LPR logos and stop and ask how they can help or donate, others are not so kind.

‘Someone tried to set fire to my bag and physically abused me, so I called the police,’ she says.

‘Others walk past saying, “for God’s sake!” and when I tell them I’m helping the pigeons, they shout, “they don’t need helping, they’re vermin; flying rats!”.’

Unsurprisingly, sometimes it can get a bit much. ‘It breaks my heart to see people being unkind to them. I was born with an extra dose of empathy and compassion which is a double-edged sword. I can’t switch it off.’

Which means she rarely leaves the house without her rescue kit and can’t walk past her local flock without feeding them.

Happily, Jacob and Jennie tell me that our patient should be easily fixed. Perhaps the pigeon knows they’re here to help. Or maybe Jacob chatting – ‘It’s OK, darling, you’ll be free soon. Sorry darling, I know it’s uncomfortable’ – really is soothing.

An LPR member removes human hair from around a pigeon's foot. As pigeons move, the hair tightens, slicing into the skin until it bleeds and becomes infected, cutting off the circulation

She doesn’t struggle under the tea towel. Just lies and stares at us with her beady orange eyes as Jacob works at her tangled tattered feet and girls on their way to Brownies gather to watch.

Other birds are not lucky. Sometimes the two tangled feet then tangle together, tightening until the birds are caught in hair shackles which can trap them on railings until they starve to death.

Jennie tells me that sometimes they become so distressed they deglove themselves – ripping the skin right off their feet.

She adds that, occasionally, when her feathery charges are really struggling, she’ll takes them home to her flat in Welwyn Garden City for a few days of proper rehab, where she keeps them far away from her cat and sings them lullabies and holds them up to her heartbeat for comfort.

But she and Jacob will always return a pigeon to its flock because they mate all year and might have babies to feed.

They are so committed that I hardly dare ask about the issue in some London stations, where pigeons are drawn by the heat and food supplies, and Transport for London has a special licence to cull them every so often.

‘I’ll spend two hours sitting on the ground de-stringing a pigeon and the next week they’ll come in and shoot them all. How do you think that feels?’ he asks. ‘We are not stupid. We know it’s not something we can solve alone.

‘So we do try to focus on the difference we can make to that one bird – which is enormous – not the flock, as that would just be too depressing.’

In the meantime, they desperately hope that people will start tidying up properly. Sweeping their hair up. Putting it in the bin. Being a bit more thoughtful.

Because whether you love or loathe pigeons, these monstrous string foot injuries must be total agony and are so easily avoidable.

And with that, back to our feathery charge, whose feet are finally free and whose sharp eyes are taking everything in as Jacob explains that they always name a pigeon before they release it.

Often after the person who called them out after contacting them via the London Pigeon Rescue website. Or maybe in honour of a landmark or historical figure.

‘This one,’ he says, ‘we have named Jane.’

He slathers Jane’s angry feet in thick antiseptic cream, opens her beak so I can pop a multi-vitamin pill inside, and carefully passes her to me.

Her little body is warm in my lap and I can feel her heart beating as I shield her with my hands.

When I take them away, she launches up in a great flap of feathers, but then doesn’t go far. Just to the end of the bench.

Where, for a few minutes, she preens herself, pecks seed from Jacob’s hand and moves gently, trying out her new feet.

Until, finally, Jane the pigeon takes off, swooping up into the lime trees to perch with her mate and their flock.