By Gary Pearson
Pigeons, the dirty vermin that they are, have unquestionably and irrefutably become too comfortable in their surroundings, or more to the point, our surroundings.
I express my escalating discord not purely because, regrettably, I once was open-wing slapped in the face by one of the rats with wings, but more because of their nonchalant, flippant, inconsiderate and blasé attitudes.
Living in London, the unofficial pigeon capital of the world, only exacerbates my disillusionment.
Scavenging on our scraps, defecating anywhere and everywhere they please and incessantly bobbing their heads as they saunter obliviously along, like a resident DJ is implanted in their tiny bird brains, pigeons have become all-too accustomed to shitting on our parade.
And apparently children are the only ones that have switched on to pigeon’s nefarious intentions. They are, without a doubt, the only ones doing anything about it.
Children across the world seem to be on the same strategic wavelength and, like battalions of old, charge toward lingering flocks, making them scamper, scurry and flee. It’s not their playful curiosity coming to the fore, but, in my opinion, their unbridled desire to banish pigeons to an uninhabited swathe of land far, far away.
I lionize children for coming up with such a simple, yet effective plan and carrying it through. At least they are taking a stand.
While somewhat impractical and slightly radical, I assert that all humans should form a unified front and, at least once a week, dash towards an unsuspecting flock with reckless abandon. It wouldn’t take long, if war was waged, for pigeons to think twice before showing up uninvited, lingering and congregating by the masses.
And don’t even get me started on those who opt to feed the repugnant creatures. Thriving on benevolence and weakness, pigeons, like seagulls and vultures, are freeloaders of the bird species.
So join me in scaring a flock a week and there will be no more pigeons of which to speak.