People all over the world have had different names for the Pigeon; rock dove, mad bomber, rats with wings, and near-sighted feather dusters are a few that I remember. But after a day two years ago, I have learned a new respect for the pigeon. We all have.
I worked in an office building about five minutes away from Central Park in New York City. My co-workers and I would often go out in the park for lunch to get the only fresh air available in the city.
And every time we did go out there, we were approached, or rather attacked by the pigeons. They had been known to become rather aggressive and had stolen a sandwich from more than one of us.
It was the middle of June, and the pigeons were out. I was beginning to think that they never went away. Five of us were on a bench near Fifth Ave, and were totally facsinated by these Columba livia. They flittered and fluttered all around us, flew in and out of the trees, and flocked around anything that looked like piece of food.
Our favorite pigeon, a mottled brown and white one, that we had affectionately begun to call Motley, was cooing softly at another pigeon. My co-worker tossed it another peice of bread.
"You know," Debbie said, from the other side of the bench. "We sit here and curse these things out and make fun of them, and then go right ahead and feed them."
"Well, " I responded to her, "they are the native inhabitants of this park. They have every right to be here. They are fellow creatures of the earth."
"You are getting philosophical about a pigeon," Debbie said, raising an eyebrow.
"No, I think that Harry is right. We make fun of other humans too, and then go right ahead and feed them in our homes," Carol said from my other side. Charles and Lydia just looked over at us like we had six heads apiece.
"Okay, here's a question that will make you pigeon lovers think," Debbie said. "Have you ever seen a baby pigeon?"
Carol and I paused and looked at one another. Had we? I had lived in Greenwich Village, Soho, the Upper West Side, the Bowery and now in Midtown, and I had never seen a pigeon hatchling.
"No," Carol said. "But you don't see baby humans outside for usually close to six months, except in baby carriages."
"So you're saying that the pigeons have carriages?" Debbie said.
"No," I defended Carol. "But I see what she means. They could keep them in the nest until they are full grown."
Charles and Lydia began to laugh loudly, frightening away Motley and the others. Lydia leaned forward, "Do you guys realize that you are comparing a bunch of dumb animals to the most advanced species on the planet?"
"I never said they were dumb," Carol said. "And I never said that we were smart. I was simply paralleling two animals' child-rearing habits."
"I am not an animal," Lydia said. "Humans don't fall under the catagory of animal."
"Oh, we don't?" I said. "Then how come we function like apes, and have vestigial tales and carnivourous teeth?"
Lydia snorted. "You may be an animal, Harrison, but I certainly am not. You can compare all you like, but a pigeon is just a dumb animal like any other on this planet. It's time to head to back."
She got off the bench and began to walk back to the office. She turned back to say only one thing. "Come on, Charles."
Charles sprang to his feet and followed. "Like a faithful puppy," Debbie said, with a laugh.
