Tuesday, June 18, 2013

Pigeon home invasion

Sweet Jesus. I've had pigeon issues before - see here and here for more - but never anything quite like this.

Despite preventative measures I've taken to make my balcony not so welcoming, like strategically placed strips of packing tape and fishing wire complicating their access, my involuntary pets of last year have been persistently trying to reclaim the space that they regard as their own. Every time I hear them land or start their cooing I pound on the window with an Indonesian wooden rattle that I own and scream and flail to startle them away, and I've swept up tentative sticks they placed in the hope of building a new nest, but they won't take the hint, and keep returning. Today marks the height of their boldness, though - they've taken things to a new level.

Understand: I don't *think* I left my sliding screen open when I left for the Jello Biafra event last night. Usually I lock the balcony door outright; that much I accept that I forgot to do, but I always make sure at least my screen door is closed, precisely so no birds can get in. If I did close the screen, that means that the pigeons found a way to force it open about five inches with their beaks - something I am willing to accept is within the urban bird skill set - because when I got home this morning from my overnighter, there was a pigeon sitting on each of my arm chairs, looking rather pleased with themselves.

After a moment of stunned silence, in which we regarded each other, I yelled, I flailed, and they gave a panicked flight into the half-shut screen, then flew in the opposite direction, into my kitchen. I opened the screen wider, went into the kitchen, and shooed them out, briefly having both pigeons flying directly over my head, making that high-pitched whooping sound they make. I covered my head, fearing they might shit on me. They made another flight to the screen, found it open, and took off.

I inspected my armchairs, and sure enough - they've shit on both of them. I had to scoop up five little deposits of bird poop just now. I only hope they haven't shit in my bed.

This, of course, means war. I kind of regret not  having swatted at them when I had them in close quarters, to be honest. Anything less than actual violence seems not to be working.

1 comment:

Allan MacInnis said...

They shit on my bed, too.