the pigeons

Joe was moving rather slowly this morning. I thought it was just his sleepy limbs waking back up. He warned me not to move too quickly, to look at the window. There were pigeons on the sill.

My relationships with pigeons in the past has been love-hate, with drastic swings in either direction. I've been known to give chase on while walking down the sidewalk, walking quickly behind their bobbing heads until they're forced to fly away.

If I had to pinpoint a moment, I would say the hatred started when a man, thinking he was doing something kind, handed me a sack of stale bread when I was standing in the Piazza San Marco in Venise. I was swarmed by the piazza's famous pigeons. I screamed, dropped the plastic bag and ran. The pigeons ate their way through the plastic bag until bread crumbs were flying into the air, falling over their feathers like confetti at a Macy's parade.

The hatred, over the past six months, has been replaced by a lasting affection. There are songbirds here, but in the city they're rarely seen. I miss the robins and sparrows my parents' backyard fills with, the yellow finches that seem to come to our front porch annually. The pigeons here could be mistaken for the turtle doves back home if it weren't for one big exception.

Sure, their colors vary much more here–white, brown with white spots, shades of gray. Their heads still bob with each step; they still coo when taking flight; they still look at you with their sad, orange eyes. But these pigeons are bold. They'll follow you. They'll throw their sad eyes at you inside–INSIDE–the train station while you guiltily gorge yourself on a pastry from Paul. You'll kick at them, and they'll circle back on the chance that your kick may have caused some crumbs to fall.

They'll hop around on their gimpy, deformed foot & remind you that they own the city. They've adapted. They've made it work. They're beating us. Their persistence has made me fall in love with them. I can't buy a baguette or pastry without sharing it on my way home. I tend to coo at them while walking down the sidewalk, to slowly gather a crowd of them while waiting for my train.

Joe would say this affection is more related to my longing for a my Baby bunny, to my need to feel that I'm caring for something. I insist that it's out of respect for the little guys with their sad eyes and their patient survival.

Enjoy what you're reading? I'd love to know that we're on track. Click Follow on the right side of the screen to stick with us.