It makes sense that we think about sex a lot. We are designed to reproduce so that there will be a steady supply of us to watch American Idol and eat dinner at Olive Garden restaurants. But why the pigeons?
That’s right. The pigeons are landing on my roof again. One single male--let’s call him Dick Cheney--is cooing and cooing for hours, desperately looking for a mate (I remember what that’s like, Dick). There’s one couple that keep coming back, the male following the female round and round, fanning his tail and bowing his head, followed by another stage with the two of them bobbing their heads up and down in unison. Do we humans look this silly when we are courting?
Not that I was paying that much attention, but the mating itself was pretty clumsy, with the male needing several attempts to situate himself properly on the female’s back while flapping his wings to keep balance. The deed itself was very brief, given the length of time allotted for initial discovery. It was all too familiar. I shut the window and closed the blinds.