Eating Crow...

A few months back, soon after shifting into my latest domicile, I installed a window A/C in the wall opposite my bed. Which, I suppose, makes it less a window A/C than it is a wall A/C, but for the sake of clarity, my intention was to indicate that it is the type of air-conditioner that you fit into a window, even though it is in a wall… because yeah, now it’s perfectly clear. Anyway, this boxy, old unit serves a dual purpose: it gloriously cools my room, and conveniently enough, adequately plugs that air-conditioner sized hole in my wall.

Unfortunately, complete enjoyment of my coolerator was not destined to last. One lazy Saturday morning I was suddenly startled awake at exactly 7:15. From atop my air-conditioner there arose such a clatter; I sprang from my bead to see what was the matter. I ran to the window, and what should I see? But two strutting pigeons staring right back at me. Quickly I banged on the air-conditioner and they took off in a flurry of beating wings. Yeah, so there, take that! I went back to bed.

Half an hour later they were back. A low guttural growl escaped from my throat. Just ignore them, I thought to myself. But then they started one of their pigeon dances, clicking and clacking and cooing with all the fervour of an avian hoe-down. "Damnit!" I ejaculated (verbally) and jumped up to bang on the A/C again. This time however, they stopped dancing, but they didn’t take off. They had me figured. Vaguely, I wondered why I somehow attract the most intelligent pigeons in town. I cranked open my window and shouted, "Get outta here!" The pigeons were startled, but unfortunately, so was the servant in the adjacent yard. I waved reassuringly, realised I was naked, and quickly decided to return to bed.

Everyday, at exactly 7:15, the pigeons would return. It got to the point where my alarm would go off at 7:00 and I’d tell myself I could afford to stay in bed a bit longer, or at least until the pigeons came. By this point, no amount of banging and thrashing on my end of the air-conditioner would come close to scaring them off. By craning my neck, I could see that a ledge ran about 8 inches above my A/C, creating the perfect little cranny for the damned doves. And given my experience at Subaru Kazoo’s place, the last thing I wanted was for them to settle down and make a nest. I just couldn’t afford the heartache.

Finally, one weekend morning, I had had enough. My eyes were set in solid determination and my mind sorted through a melee of competing solutions. I marched downstairs and enlisted the help of my intrepid servant Paul. Together we swept the neighbourhood in search of scrap wood and other various odds and ends from the many houses under construction. Paul wasn’t too happy about this, I think mainly because he didn’t like people seeing his boss out rooting through the trash looking for treasures. Living with two Canadians, poor Paul must just roll his eyes some days.

Having found enough material, we collected some tools and returned to my room. We removed the iron bars from my window frame, and then alternatively holding each other’s feet we leaned out over the abyss, inspecting the problem. Like grand-masters at a teenage Tetris tournament during the great game-boy craze of 1991, we shifted blocks of wood, rotated cardboard boxes, and spun pieces of Styrofoam into place. A small crowd of servants began to gather in the neighbouring yards that share our back wall. Most likely, they were attracted by Paul’s continual shouting, "Boss, are you ok!" followed by my embarrassed assurances that I was fine, at least physically. After some trial and error, I fitted the last piece of the pigeon puzzle into place and wiggled back inside. Now I just had to wait.

The next morning, I watched as a Pigeon came swooping in and abruptly pulled up short in front of the perplexing mess of plywood and polyfoam, hovering in mid-air like giant, ungainly hummingbird. Finally, he flew across to the opposite roof, and continued to stare right at me. I stared back, my fingers twitching over a non-existent six-shooter. Ha! I thought, I have won. The superior intellect has once again conquered the annoyances of the birds and beasts.

That is, until this past weekend, when I heard a clatter, and walked to the window just in time to see a pigeon work a piece of wood out of my conglomerate to send it plummeting to the ground below. With what I swear was a smug look back at me, the bird crawled sedately right inside the jumble of wood. They had found the key-stone! The last piece of the puzzle, the all-important chunk of wood that blocked all entrance. I thought about how there was no way I was taking my window apart again, about how I had now created the absolute perfect nest for the birds, and about whether those damn birds had it figured out all along.