Bird Brain

I have birds on my mind lately – pigeons to be specific. We moved into our condo apartment in 2004. What we were not aware of at the time is that some of the previous inhabitants still claimed ownership of part of our new lodging, the balcony. No matter how patiently we explained to them that we did not wish to share our new home with them, they kept coming back to attempt to build nests and lay their eggs on our property.    

We eventually started to resort to more forceful approaches. I printed out pigeon stew recipes and posted them where the pigeons could read them near their favorite nesting areas. To no avail. They either ignored them or, I suspect, most of them were illiterate.

I filled a spray bottle with water and would spray them whenever I saw them land on the ledge of our balcony. They kept coming back for more. I think they believe it was a game and great fun at that.

Diane and I would run out and shoo them away several times a day. Once, one of our avian neighbours jumped off the ledge from a height of 15 stories. I turned to Diane and said, “My goodness, look at what we have just done. We hurt its feeling and it committed suicide.” That was wishful thinking because it was back a few minutes later.

Pigeons, we discovered to our great dismay, do not fly south for the winter. They stay around to haunt you all year round. In mid-December one year, I saw five of them lined up on the ledge of our balcony facing us. I said to myself, “O no, they are going to start cooing Christmas Carols.” I rushed to the patio door, opened it quickly, and scattered them by bellowing a thunderous, “Bah, humbug!”

While looking online for means of getting rid of pigeons without getting in trouble with the SPCA, I saw an ad for large plastic owls. The ad suggested that these were very effective in keeping pigeons away. I immediately ordered one and placed it in a prominent place on the balcony. A few mornings later, I found the owl tipped over on its side with a pigeon standing on its head looking at me with beady eyes that defiantly proclaimed victory.

Several years ago, I heard noises outside and went out ready to pounce on the intruder. The pigeon was cringing in a corner but did not fly away when I went through my usual fie fi foe fum routine. I realized it must have broken a wing by inadvertently trying to fly through one of our windows. I finally had one of the little monsters at my mercy, but not only could I not bring myself to take advantage of the situation, I felt compelled to rescue my sworn enemy. I put the bird in a box and brought it to the Wild Bird Care Center in Nepean. The young lady at the reception looked at it and confirmed that the pigeon was a teen and had a broken wing but that it would mend quickly.

I have grown accustomed to the frequent visits from our two-legged feathery beasts. When Diane tells me that they are on our balcony, I simply say, “Our friends are back!” and go out to gently usher them away. I have come to believe that the teenage pigeon I rescued became a raconteur among his flock and often told the story of the giant who saved his life when he was a youngster. Generations of pigeons have grown up on that legend and come on a pilgrimage to our balcony to have a glimpse of the legendary bald benevolent giant. I am afraid none of them will ever take me seriously again as an aspiring scarecrow.