| | Bettina's Pigeons A while ago, in response to my story about pigeons, Bettina, a friend and former colleague of mine, sent me a story describing her own experience with the pigeons in her backyard. Here are all the gory details of how a horde of pigeons first took over Bettina's backyard, and then her life. Please notice that any spelling and/or grammatical errors are mine, as I translated her story from German into English.
Bettina writes:
September 22
Dear Horst,
I must admit that I was instantly attracted (and felt almost caught doing something wrong) when I found the story "Pigeons Are Punishment" on your weblog.
Everything started the winter when my mother gave me a bird feeder for my kitchen balcony.
They're really lovely, the hungry birds, the robins, the tits and the sparrows and all those other songbirds, whatever their names may be. Only an instant after the first tit had landed, a big fat pigeon appeared from nowhere and brutally pecked the little fellow away. My attempts to keep the big birds at a distance for the sake of the small ones turned out to be futile, so that I first got used to, and later became friends with those big grey city birds. You must know that I'm a house mouse without compare and really dread to leave my refuge. During my long jobless months I got a bit afraid of becoming a bit peculiar; after all, I spent hours just listening to and observing the sounds in the building, the frequency of people entering and leaving the house and the behaviour of the birds on the balcony, becoming more and more silent and quiet myself.
Oh, I was being observed, too: by the pigeons. There were three of them. Always the same. For months. Beautiful creatures. Once you do away with your prejudice and look at their multicoloured, shimmering necks, the nuances of grey and black in their feathers, the fine lids over their curious eyes, you have to admit that they're doubtless creatures of a certain beauty and glamour.
One of them often stayed for the whole day and did nothing but observe me closely. She sat down on the handle of the watering can to get a better view of my kitchen and watched me tirelessly. I admit that she got a few breadcrumbs from time to time. When it got hot in the summer and I left the balcony door open, the animal fearlessly walked into my apartment, sometimes all the way to my bedroom, where I sat at my computer, and looked at me. What was I to make of that? Cheeky, greedy things? Well, as long as it was just one, I was moved by how trusting it was and appointed it as my very personal feathered cat; I gently directed it back to the door, where it soon fed from my hand.
The pigeons knew exactly when we got up and waited impatiently for my appearance every morning, not on the balcony, but on the nearby roofs. It was a moving change to my loneliness, when I walked to the door and as if on command a small swarm of pigeons approached. They approached me, the Lady of the Pigeons! What power I had! And each one of them was so different and so unique.
Then I was away for a month.
When I came back and my main pigeon was walking back and forth on the balcony after a month (certainly it hadn't been there every day - it must have checked the calendar), I was just as moved as before and delighted. For a few days.
Then there were two of them. Okay, so it found a handsome companion. They were rather impatient, and the sound of their flapping wings in front of my window as six o[base ']clock in the morning was rather loud, especially in the rainy weather, and more often than not they woke me up before my alarm-clock was due to ring. Their impatience seemed to coincide with increased hunger. a few hours after breakfast they would be back and stare through the kitchen window, demanding an early lunch. Same thing in the afternoon and early evening. It was incredible how much these creatures were capable of eating. At some point I started wondering whether - despite their obvious intelligence - they weren't just stupid enough to eat themselves to death.
Next after impatient gluttony was the miracle of reproduction: as soon as I appeared at the window, the sound of flapping wings started resounding through the backyard, and louf cooing started and would not stop until I had given them something to eat. One pigeon had become two, two had instantly become ten, and they fought wild and brutal battles on my balcony and left it a devastated and disgusting battlefield, which meant I had to scrub it clean every day. Despite my love for the pigeon - which by now I had started to question seriously - I was out of my wits. was I really to feed an incessantly growing, greedy horde of pigeons that defiled my balcony with their excrement four times a day? Like each and every one of them? The pigeons had unscrupulously and inevitably turned my anthropomorphisation and my mystification of them to their advantage. However, that had progressed to an extent where I just coldn't stop immediately. You know how penetrating that flapping of wings, those looks, that picking and looking for food can be - as if they[base ']d been fasting for 40 days, those fat-bellied monsters. I wanted to wean them step by step and tried to talk them out of it. You can't just gawk and demand all the time, I told them, I'm not the Good Samaritan. At least do something to earn your food. Like a flight show.
And guess what happens: the cheekiest and most handsome of the pigeons lifts off, flings itself into the air, makes a sky dive and then, whenever it sees I'm present, crashes against the window pane, raising my compassion level to immediate red alert status (it doesn't seem to be bothered or injured at all, though). Sometimes it dances on the balcony railing, flies loopings or even lands on my hand, tugging at my sleeve.
I feel inclined to say: talk to me, and I just might start feeding you again. However, since I have growing doubts whether I'm not already cooing in pigeon language myself and have becoming seriously peculiar, I will have to think of a viable solution sooner or later... you wouldn't know one, would you?
September 30
Dear Horst,
I'm making some small progress in emotionally distancing myself from the pigeons, as you suggested. I'm practicing giving them the cold shoulder, but then again, more often than not, I give in to their pleas.
I found your idea of getting a falcon brilliant. That would be a dignified alternative, but I'm wondering if I wouldn't have to offer him mice and other small animals to get him tame - and where should I get those from?
Seems like I have to deal with the pigeons on my own.
Sometimes I'm getting "support" from upstairs, though: up there, somewhere in a flat above mine, there lives a woman who's probably suffering from dementia or is addicted to alcohol, or both. She hates all living creatures and spends ample time on her pulpit-like balcony, loudly preaching her hatred to the world. My grey visitors are welcome addressees for her verbose tirades.
Last Friday it was raining heavily most of the day, and raindrops kept drumming on the windowsills.
A flock of pigeons landed on my balcony, and thinking of Cinderella, I gave them a few lentils. Angered by the grey creatures, Madame from upstairs started pouring one bucket of water after another from her balcony (the pigeons fled in all directions). A veritable wall of water kept coming down and moved towards the plants on my balcony, until it hit them - my poor geraniums, mallows, rosemary... ten buckets of water, hot and cold - clouds of steam dissolved in the rain like bursting soap bubbles. Still not happy with her handiwork, she left the balcony started pouring down water from all her windows - behind me, in my bedroom, streams of water splashed on the window, and finally my daughter's small balcony was flooded. All the time I heard her through the walls, incessantly talking to herself in a high-pitched voice.
Maybe these disagreeable experiences will teach the pigeons that while I may be a nice person, the woman living upstairs is not, and that it'd therefore be better for them to stay away. Hm. I just hope I'm not becoming too peculiar in the time it takes them to learn this lesson.
October 28
Dear Horst,
something sensational has happened concerning my pigeon-infested backyard.
I found a stray cat, or rather it found me, a big black beautiful creature. Right in the middle of this city. I always wanted a cat, and now he's simply there, lying in a big, fur-lined box on my balcony. Not all the time, but quite often. Last night there was a terrible storm, and the wind made a lot of noise, whirling up all kinds of objects, disturbing my sleep. Around 3 a.m. I looked out on the balcony, and the cat was still lying there in his box. For five minutes he came in, laid down in my lap and purred. That was nice.
I guess he came because of the birds rather than me, but who cares.
It was about a week ago when the cat first arrived. Just as the pigeons were about to land, he jumped at them from its hiding place behind the mint bush, hissing loudly and scaring them to death. Since then, the pigeons have acquired that stupid look. They're just sitting on the roof with that remarkably stupid look on their faces. No matter if the cat's there or not.
How do I know the cat's a "he"? He's wearing a collar around his black neck with a label on it that says he lives a street away. I called the owners, and they came around to fetch him, but a few days later he was back. The owners told me that he frequently visits the railway station, the district authority and the post office. Everybody knows him there.
A capricious animal, a true character. We argue sometimes, because his manners aren't the best. But we're getting along better every day.
Bettina Palmisano can be contacted at b dot lipp at nextra dot at. |
