April 25, San Francisco: The pigeons have capitulated. I repeat: the pigeons have capitulated. As has been diligently reported here, our house has been under siege by a pigeon couple who wanted to build their nest o’ love in the light well outside our kitchen. On Thursday, April 24, 2009, a date that will henceforth be known as VP Day, we put up some bird strips (those spiky pigeon repellent things) and permanently patched a hole that the lovebirds found particularly enticing (that doesn’t sounds right). Since that day the area has been virtually pigeon free.
Those of us who lived through this epic battle will no doubt look back on these times as a peak moment—a time when we were more alive, when petty matters were forgotten as we joined together in common cause against a mortal threat to our very civilization (not just our civilization—our very civilization). I find myself reflecting on a time that is fast receding as I look on the remnant piles of pigeon poop on our roof, and I almost long to see the pigeons again. Could it be that those feathered creatures gave my life purpose? Could it be that I miss them?