Pigeon Central.

I am harboring pigeons on my balcony.
I use the term “harboring” because if any of my neighbors had their way, my pigeon families would have their little necks wrung and their eggs thrown into the street.
I use the term “families” because there is more than one pigeon family. Pigeons from far and wide seem to be (well, there is no other word for it really) flocking to my 14th floor balcony. In 2005, it has become prime Pigeon Real Estate. I am here at the mega-bookstore, and half-tempted to go to the magazine rack and see if my place is listed as such in some sort of...... Pigeon Journal.
Nesters Monthly. Something like that... I bet it’s there.
“Nice, peaceful balcony nesting ground. Several abandoned planters and flower pots already in place. All that is missing is you! Wonderful view of the city. Quiet hermit lives inside. RARELY comes out. Lots of shade. Plenty of deck space for all kinds of dancing and general all-day strutting. Close to malls and parks and statues. No barbeques allowed.”
[Notice though how the ad does not say anything about the slavering cat walking back and forth in the window all day long? The realtors never tell you this part.]

OK, so how did this happen?
How did my place become Pigeon Central?

Well, it’s like the ad says. There is all of this great stuff out there that is somewhat abandoned. Each thing might as well have one of those flashing arrow signs on it saying “Why keep looking? Make your damn nest right here!”
It’s perfect. Seriously, just walking out there now and then makes me wish I was a pigeon!

I used to have huge tree-like plants inside my apartment. Then, after the slow and painful death of all those trees, the big clay pots, still full of earth and each weighing at least fifty pounds, all ended up out on my balcony. Along with patio chairs and a table and a railing-planter full of dead flowers that I had set down in a shady corner, I had no idea I was creating a maternity ward for birds.
Thinking no more of it, I went quietly on with my hermetically sealed lifestyle.
Until one evening last year, I went out on the balcony at night, and heard a sort of rustling about that seemed to be coming from that one rectangular railing planter. I bent down for a better look and well, there I observed my first pigeon family.
“Hey, don’t have a heart attack... relax!” I tried to reassure the pigeon. “I know all about not wanting to be disturbed. Settle down. I’m your friend.”
In the light of day, I went out for a closer look. The bird was not there. But there were two little white eggs. I have rarely looked upon anything so heart-wrenchingly vulnerable, as those eggs.
I would sooner jump off the balcony myself than throw them over.
With a mad flutter of wings, mom or dad (you know it is quite hard to tell pigeon-gender) came in for a landing and commenced a frantic strutting of the balcony rail while screeching at me like I was Adolf Hitler.
“Hey hey hey whoa! Do not freak out dude. I just pay the rent here, that’s all!”
And I ran back into my place and pulled the blinds.

The early summertime ran its course. Those two pigeons hatched (no offense, but ugly as hell they were).... and I watched the whole process of their growth into full-fledged pigeon-hood, until one day, they flew the coop. Or balcony, as it were. I wished I could have seen that first tenuous flight, but I was probably doing something extremely stupid that day, like working.
When a pigeon family moves out, let me tell you, they leave something behind.
That’s right, it rhymes with bird.
Turd.
How an animal of this meagre size can crap that much, is beyond me.
But it was time for the broom and chisel. There was enough guano on my balcony to form a tropical island.
After the cleanup, I kept saying to myself “Man, I don’t want this to happen again next year. I’ve gotta get this stuff off the balcony.”
Did I do it?
NO!
Can birds remember addresses?
Hell yeah!
And they had such a good go of it last year that they told all their friends about it.
This year, I’ve got TWO pigeon families out there. One in the modest townhouse-style rectangular planter again with one egg, and (just met them yesterday) another family have moved in to one of the big huge fifty-pounder condo units. Two eggs for these folks.
I’m settling in for another year of chirping and feathers and cement-like bird crap.

My neighbors. Like, the human ones.... to the left of me?
Not impressed. They are not impressed.
Just the other day I am leaving for work and my neighbor and I happen to exit our places at the same time. I’ve got to ride all the way down with the guy from next door.
In the elevator, he turns to me, and in as serious a voice as one might muster, he says...
“You have pigeons on your balcony?”
[I can tell... it’s not really a question...]
I sort of cough nervously, sip my coffee.... “Haven’t really noticed any this ye.....”
“You know there is this thing you can buy, it’s like a pinwheel and you put it on your balcony rail. They cost about like one cent at Wal-Mart.”
[Man this elevator is really slow today...]
“Really, and do they work at all? Do they keep the birds from landi.....”
“Yeah. Have you noticed at all? We’ve got about sixteen of these pinwheels on our balcony rail. Cost us 16 cents.”
DING!
Finally, he is getting out at the ground level and I go on to the underground garage.
He gets out and turns around, with a glare in his eyes. And as the doors close in on me, I hear him saying....
“Wal-Mart. GET SOME!”