Tabatha Deans

A PIGEON APOCALYPSE
The pigeons have got to go. They’ve waged war on my building, and apparently have been breaking into all of the apartments on my floor. The neighbor girls are freaked out, having both had a pigeon trapped inside their apartments. They continue to stalk me from the rooftop above, and after trying everything imaginable to reunite them with their egg, it became obvious that they were not at all interested in the egg, they merely want to get into my apartment and eat my Pop-Tarts.
My new friend Mr. R was kind enough to build me some screens to put in my windows, which do a great job of keeping the pigeons out, but they continue to stare at me with their beady little evil eyes. They have not figured out how to get through the screens, but not for lack of trying. I returned home yesterday to find that they had somehow knocked the stick out of the outside of the window, which was propping up the window. That had to take some doing on their part, but at least they didn’t get through the screens.
Giving up on all hope of raising the egg to maturity, I planned to take it for a bike ride with me and find it a new home at Cherry Creek State Park. I’m writing a Bike ‘n’ Hike story, and after an early morning appointment at the health clinic I was going to take the H line to within a few miles of the lake. I left my house at 5:30 a.m. with my backpack full for the day’s adventure. It was time for my annual standing in line at the health clinic, which begins at 6 a.m. And ends around 9. I’m not allowed to use the public health clinic without an annual interview, and appointments are taken on a first come first served basis.
By the time I was halfway to the clinic I pulled over to take my jacket off. I stopped in the shade of the Denver Post building, and leaned my bike against the wall as I took off my jacket and stuffed it into my pack. I felt something brush down my back, and something wet his my calf. I twisted around to look, and sure enough, a pigeon had pooped on me, and it was running down my leg, and had spattered upon my shorts. I looked up for the offending bird, and saw him. Sitting on the ledge. Staring at me. Mocking me. Punishing me for getting screens and thwarting the efforts of pigeons everywhere. I cursed him, and I’m sure he laughed.
I delivered the egg to the lake later that afternoon, and nestled it down at the base of a tree, surrounded by feathers, grass and twigs. I’ll have no way of knowing if it ever actually hatches, and I know there’s a good chance an animal will come along and devour it. But my conscience is clear—its gone back to nature. And hopefully the avian gods will love me once again.

June 19, 2012 - Posted by Tabatha Stewart | Uncategorized