For the Birds

This past weekend I briefly shared a subway car with two pigeons—one black and one white. I live in a diverse part of the country. The birds entered the car at the Van Cortlandt Park station at W242nd Street a few minutes before the southbound Number 1 train commenced its run into Manhattan. I’ve experienced such close encounters with nature before and always worried the birds might become trapped in the train on an unexpected and unwanted journey to places unknown. The nastiest part of such scenarios is that they would be passengers alongside ever-increasing numbers of unsympathetic Homo sapiens. Happily, this pair proved quite savvy and were aware of the drill. They briskly pecked away at invisible crumbs on the subway car floor and exited the train moments before the “all-aboard” buzzer sounded and the conductor exclaimed, “Stand clear of the closing doors!”

My cohabitation with these feathered world travelers inspired a series of flighty thoughts. It jarred my memory, too. Society has really gone to the birds, I concluded. For starters, I’ve noticed more and more uncooked rice on the sidewalks of local businesses frequented by pigeons. Apparently, these entrepreneurs have swallowed hook, line, and sinker the canard that consumption of the rice—after it expands in their stomachs—will cause the pigeons to explode. This, by the way, wouldn't exactly be a pretty sight on their respective properties.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not an admirer of large pigeon ensembles and people feeding them in the wrong places. For some individuals, a pigeon strike is considered a harbinger of good fortune. But for recipients of these plops from up above, it’s a major problem in the here and now. I gingerly navigate through the various pigeon fallout zones in my neck of the woods and hope for the best. So far, lady luck has left me unsullied.

On the flip side of the pigeon-hating retailers in my area is a shopkeeper who liberally tosses birdseed on the front sidewalk of his establishment, which naturally attracts multiple species of birds. Not cardinals, orioles, and hummingbirds, but sparrows, starlings, and pigeons. But it’s the pigeons that rule the roost in this venue. Passersby must regularly wade through a bona fide mess with flapping pigeons in a perpetual cycle of ascent and descent. I suspect the nearby beauty parlor, eatery, and cigar lounge don’t appreciate the feeding frenzies outside their doors.

When I was a youth, a notorious neighborhood bully was renowned for blowing up pigeons with firecrackers. Recently, I searched his name and came upon an arrest notice of this sadist from the past. It’s called karma. When I swerved to avoid a pigeon during driving lessons, my instructor told me in no uncertain terms not to do that again. I should make “pigeon soup” the next time. Fortunately, there wasn’t a next time.

One final pigeon story: It involves a great champion of progressive causes. When pigeons nested under his air conditioner, it disturbed his peace, tranquility, and routine. The chirping hatchlings eventually drove him to distraction. So, what does he do? No, he doesn’t call someone who could remove them humanely. Lock, stock, and barrel, the man with the bleeding liberal heart throws the nest down his building’s garbage chute. That’s the human species at work. It’s too often about us and only us. But you know what: There’s more than enough room for pigeons. We can co-exist.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)