May 2019 28

So I’m going to be a dad.

A pigeon dad.

Okay, maybe Uncle.

A pair of pigeons has moved onto the balcony. And now there are two eggs.

Fucking sky rats.

The world doesn’t need two more pigeons, no. But what really bothers me about this is that my attempts to thwart their squatting failed miserably.

I saw the two future parents casing the joint weeks ago, like bank robbers who were just sussin out the conditions. I’d wake up in the morning and two pigeons would be sitting on the railing, taking in the view of Parkdale. A white spotted one, and a more stout grey one.

‘Aw,’ I thought. ‘Kind of romantic.’

Future visions of cleaning up pigeon shit all summer snapped me out of it and I was off to get one of those ‘Fuck Off’ Owls. Google says ‘Pigeons are afraid of predators like Owls’. Suddenly all those dollar store owls made sense. Not decorative apparently. Old ladies don’t just like the look of owls in their gardens – functional.

At Canadian Tire, I picked up the crème de la crème of garden owls. $20. A heavy sucker on its own pedestal. A good, serious scowl that said ‘You shall not pass’ and ‘Cross me and the last thing you will see is my beak devouring your intestines like ramen’.

Satisfied with my choice, over the last few weeks I’d peak out on the balcony to see the owl. Quiet sentry, doing his or her job. No pigeon nests. Yes. Mental note to buy some fake mice to feed it.

Then I got distracted for a week.

And I suppose the Owl did too. Cause I went outside the other day to see… Mom pigeon snug in a nest in the corner of the balcony. And directly behind the Owl just to add a ‘fuck you’ exclamation point to her moxie.

You spend $20 on an owl. My trusted sentry. Utter fail. I would deal with it later.

I went inside and grabbed an eviction notice broom and returned to see she was perched on two perfect white eggs.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

So I did what any sane person that wants to enjoy their balcony all summer would do.

I went on the internet and googled ‘Pigeon egg hatching time’.

3 weeks.

And 4 weeks after hatching to learn to fly before they leave the nest. So my choice was broom or sayonara balcony until July.

I looked outside again. Mom looked at me and cooed.

Fucking Alabama. Fucking pigeons. Fine. Her choice. She wants to be a mom. I’m in. Shit goddamn it. Fuck.

So now, every morning, I look out to see who is sitting on the eggs. Dad takes the day shift. Mom takes the night shift. They are following Googled information to a T so far.

July. I can do this.

The Universe better fucking pay me back though. Somehow I think this statement shows I have the wrong attitude, but I’m still coming to terms with this, everyone.

In a very strange year already, full of unexplainable coincidences where life has been giving me a subtle wink to say ‘Go with it, let go of the wheel and just enjoy the ride’, I have been dealt this pigeon family for some reason.


Does the world need two more pigeons in it? Fuck no.

But maybe right now, for some reason my world does.

I am not fucking giving up chicken though.