I thought it was cool the two pigeons living atop the old brick column on my balcony didn’t fly off when we moved in. They stare at us as much as we stare at them.
I thought it was fascinating drama when the male picked a new mate, and the old wife stood on the railing, pleading with her wings spread and her mouth open as the other bitch moved in with her man.
My kid Meesha thought we had National Geographic right on our own balcony when they laid eggs. And more eggs. And now we have too many pigeons. And there is shit everywhere.
But survival of the fittest has its purpose. Two or three scattered twigs on my porch rug do not a nest make. So babygirl’s little pink dog ate one egg. One dumb one hatched and went to live under the bench by the front door cuz he ain’t got no idea what an actual nest is, and another dizzy one looks quite silly clutching to swaying wind chimes and eyeballing me sideways.
Now there is another bald little hatchling on the rug under my chair. Lil booger is so pitiful with his little bump of wing and bulgy eyes. I just asked babygirl what this new one’s name is, but she says he aint told her yet.
He’ll be shitting all over my BBQ grill soon.