The Post After Which You Remove my Feed From Your List
We’ve had a pigeon problem for several years. You see, a mating pair decided long ago that our soffit was the perfect place to set up a nest. (Don’t know what a soffit is? Don’t worry, I’ll show you a picture in due time.) This is unpleasant for several reasons: (1) the sound pigeons make (I hesitate to call it cooing) is nothing so much as a NEVERENDING bird copulation noise; (2) did I mention the noise is never-ending? (3) they are lazy, sloppy nest-builders, so our second-floor porch gets covered with sticks and other bits constantly dropping from the soffit; (4) speaking of droppings, their guano production is so proliferative that we are unable to open the door onto the second-floor porch due to the combined mess of sticks and twigs, and poop.
I read somewhere that they don’t like WD-40, so the Consort climbed a ladder and sprayed the bejeesus out of the ledge. We tried wire mesh, but the ledge is up so high that even with our tallest ladder, the Consort couldn’t quite reach; so one year he did get a bunch of nails hammered in blindly to try to make the ledge unpleasant for them to nest on.
Earlier this month, I noticed the SOBs were back. They were flying back and forth from the soffit to the tree across the street, collecting twigs for this year’s nest failure. I even caught a picture of one of them on the roof outside my office window:
Look at that cheeky bastid, looking at me straight in the eye before he takes off with another twig. I could hear their orgasmic screeching as I worked. The dog and cat heard it, too, and it was driving them crazy. So, I did a terrible thing. I thought to myself, and subsequently wrote on my flickr diary,
The pigeons have moved back onto the soffit. I can’t stand their constant cooing and prolific guano. Nothing keeps them away. I’m hoping the local hawks snack on them.
Hindsight is 20-20, but — oh! — what was I thinking? Because, as my luck would have it, some impish local minor godling heard my harrumphing and decided to help. A pigeon (perhaps even that one in the picture) is dead. It seems that in trying to land on the narrow ledge (made even narrower by their nest and the nails banged in at all angles), it must have slipped and gotten its head caught between some of those nails, freaked out, and broke its neck.
While I was feeling guilty, the remaining pigeon quickly got over its mourning and has invited a new partner to share this prime bit of real estate — with the dead pigeon still hanging there.
Not all of you may want to see the proof of the matter, so I’m going to use the “More” tag that I’ve never used before. Let’s see if it works…
So, really, if a hawk had been involved, things would have been much simpler, no?