I’ve always viewed pigeons as dirty, noisy, careless birds that clearly lack merit. Their scramble of bramble nests can be easily seen in corners of pipes or precariously perched on ledges. Considering the din that the pigeons make from the moment of their birth, it’s hardly a wonder that they are easily found by predatory birds and animals. It’s a common sight to see their broken eggshells lying scattered on the ground.
Pigeons are just too scatter-brained to take care of their babies. Or so I thought. However, regular hobnobbing with them has forced me to concede - they have some merit.
The windowsill of our house was given on rent to a family of pigeons. They would alternate between waddling around and messing the sill. They hated water. Every time the windowsill was cleaned out, they would fly off to a nearby tree and wait until the sill was habitable again.
One end of the windowsill was hidden from the outside world, by means of a wall. There, safely ensconced, lay two eggs. The parents took turns keeping the eggs warm, until the yellowish-black chicks hatched. There was much joyous clamour and feather flying in the pigeon household as the parents planned their childcare strategy and the children demanded attention.
We had a huge tree a little away from our window. Crow visitors would often come to sing their anthem at food intervals. When the chicks were tiny, one parent would stay home while the other went out for food. One day, an old crow (who was part of the lunch-time anthem troupe) alighted on the sill to take a benign look at the newcomers. Not unlike a senile uncle who has come to bless a newborn. With an air of quiet interest, crow extended its neck and took a kind, avuncular look inside.
The pigeon family, normally noisy, became cacophonous. Both parents were home. They came out of their home and stood on the sill. The crow waited uncertainly, hoping to be welcomed.The pigeons would have none f it. They proceeded to peck the crow until it flew to the tree. This benign crow had an expressive countenance; he was clearly saddened by this treatment. He waited, in the faint hope that the parents would change their minds. But the parents were firm in their resolve. While one pigeon waited on the sill, the other flew to the tree and wrestled the crow off its perch. By all accounts, I would have expected the crow, with its stronger beak to fend off this pigeon fellow. But this was an angry pigeon parent; the crow knew it couldn’t fight.
My son was two at this time and loved to watch the crows come and eat the fresh food we kept on the windowsill. Now that the pigeons treated our windows as their territory, they watched suspiciously as my hand placed rice within view of the crows. The crows would uncertainly hop on to the windowsill and hop off at the sight of the unwelcoming reception party.
At days’ end, my culinary efforts were left untouched by the crows. Pigeons scorn the rice-eating habit. In the evenings, dried rice could be seen walking off the sill, escorted by a troop of ants.
So much for poor parenting.
