Addicgeon

I had a hot second yesterday when both Mom and Dad were gone to get this direct shot of the two eggs. I have to say, the more pictures I take, the more embarrassed I am by the extreme filth level of my window, but, unfortunately, it's all on the outside where I can't clean.

So, relatedly, in case you're wondering, those spots on the eggs are not spots on the eggs. They're on the window. The pigeon eggs are perfect, smooth, white, oblong marbles.

I had a moment yesterday where I realized this interest may have jumped-the-shark... or pigeon, as the case may be. I was in the middle of a perfectly lovely conversation with someone I'd only recently met (so they weren't even prepared, yet, for my idiosyncrasies...) and completely lost my train of thought, as I caught a glimpse of two pigeons engaged in a food-offering ritual (where the male regurgitates food for the female in an attempt to get-it-on... I know - sexy).

They say one of the indicators of addiction is the subject effecting your ability to function in daily life...they also say realizing you have a problem is the first step to recovery. Anyone care to sponsor me...?

Family Photo -or- Crazy Pigeon Lady

I took this on Sunday, immediately after finally getting the clear shot of the two eggs; I think it makes me look sufficiently insane. Here are all five current residents of my home: me, ParentPigeon One, ParentPigeon Two and, only vaguely seen, Egg1 and Egg2.

If you look really closely, you'll notice a small white-ish tube in my hand. I was so excited when I heard ParentPigeon Two land, knowing the changing of the guard was about to happen, that I ran to grab my phone and make my way to the air conditioner mid-makeup-application. That, my friends, is dedication... and mild insanity. Not even clear-mascara-ing my eyebrows was more important than getting a shot of those damn eggs.

There's just something about having little non-human creatures around, watching them grow and change, seeing them go about their real tasks of survival...

You might respond, "Get a cat/life."

Agreed. But it's the fact that they're pigeons that gets me, I think. Usually we only get to see them do a few things: fly too close to our faces, peck at nasty sidewalk refuse, and occasionally dance around in circles trying to mate. But here, I (we) get to see real pigeon-ness in action.

Or maybe I've just become the crazy pigeon lady.

Finally!

I got it! And I was in for a surprise:

Two! Two eggs! Last week when I caught a glimpse there was only one, but apparently she laid a second. Last year there were two but only one hatched, we'll see what happens this year. That's dad on the right, I believe, with a new bit of twig for the nest in his beak.

After a little research, I've learned pigeons almost always lay two eggs, and generally one "squab" will hatch a few days before the other. Squab, being a rather unattractive word, is fitting for these little beasts - pigeon babies would never make it through a round of Anne Geddes casting, but they have their own charms, as we'll see in coming weeks.

If you're curious about the ins and outs of pigeon rearing, check out THIS article on Discover.com. Warning - the section on feeding is not for the squeamish (squabish?) but fascinating nonetheless.

This Is Getting Embarrassing...

I still haven't managed to catch a shot of the egg. I can't believe how long it's been. Unbelievably, despite my pushing my nose up against the window and shouting, "SHOW ME YOUR BABY... WHY WON'T YOU SHOW ME YOUR BABY???" ParentPigeon is nonplussed. S/he just tilts her head and dilates a pupil at me.

But, in the interest of photo content, I thought I'd show off my 10-Daily-Minutes-Of-Natural-Light as evidenced through pigeon halo.

Because the space between my building and the one next to it is only about three feet wide, I get my only natural living-room light between about 1:15 and 1:25 PM every day, give or take depending on season. So, here is ParentPigeon, in all its androgynous glory, enjoying 10 minutes of vitamin D, glaring pupil and all.

In other news, yesterday I had to make an emergency sweatshirt purchase at Brooklyn Industries (with whom, by the way, I disagree on the appropriate cost of a sweatshirt), the temperature having dropped beyond my tshirt's comfort zone. My purchase? Zip-up hoody with "Brooklyn" across the chest, and a little pigeon silhouette standing atop the "Y".

Yes, they Put A Bird On It. Seemed fitting.

Side View

I'm still waiting to catch the Changing Of The Guard - when dad/mom comes back and relieves mom/dad of egg-sitting duties - so that I can get a picture of the new egg. For your fun fact of the day: pigeons are monomorphic, which means both male and female look the same (as opposed to dimorphic where they look different), and the only way to tell them apart is through gender specific behavior. There also seems to be a trend in wildlife - though it's not always the case - that monomorphic species mate for life, and share nesting duties, whereas dimorphic species mate just for a season, only the female nests while the male collects food, and then they both go their separate ways once the kids arrive.

Know why I know this? Because I spent my first three summers in New York City after college working at the Queens Zoo doing children's theater and wildlife education. Yes, I did dress as a duck and yes that duck did, in fact, sing.

Back to the discussion at hand - I still don't have an egg shot, so I thought I'd share this instead. Here, in poor-quality-cell-phone-picture splendor, is the side view of my nursery, proving the existence of my air conditioner. The observant viewer may note that the distance between my building and the building next door is very small - I'm always impressed that this pigeon family found my prime real estate given this fact.

Crafty little buggers.

Spring Renewal

A few months ago, the cooing, scraping, peeping and wing flapping sounds of partner pigeons began to wake me in the morning again. Having the entertainment of BabyPigeon in the back of my mind, I didn't have the heart this time around to whack my window and send the happy couple flying for their lives.

And, frankly, between you and me... pigeon couples are really sweet together. And, fine, let's pause here and admit, yes... yes, I'm the crazy lady who's spent spent more than her fair share of time watching pigeon courting behavior and yes, my life is a little void of human courting behavior, but these pigeons have far more civil relations than some of the people-couples I know. They spend hours grooming one another, they sleep cuddled in plump little two-somes, they generally mate for life, and the male gives a food offering whenever he wants to get down to business - he DOES buy her dinner first!

So, not surprisingly, my tolerance with their presence has resulted in a brand new nest, which I found yesterday afternoon upon returning from a weekend trip. Graciously, she has built up her new home just to the left of my air conditioner vent system, unlike last year when she built directly on top of it.

(By the way, if you're wondering, unlike dogs, pigeons do crap where they eat. They crap where they eat, they crap where their baby is, they crap pretty much anywhere crapping might fancy them.)

I have yet to get a picture of the egg, but it's there, I saw it this morning, so as long as we don't have any colossal wind storm, or some neighbor cat manages to scale the air shaft I give you...

BABY PIGEON 2.0

In The Beginning....

Ask most New Yorkers their feelings on pigeons and the mode response will likely be, "Flying Rats." There's not a great deal of respect for the ubiquitous Rock Dove, and we come by it honestly - they poop on our streets and our hair, they'll dive bomb a stray hot dog and buzz your scalp in the process, and they just plain don't look that bright. Our children kick them, our dogs run after them, and our cats stare aggressively at them from barred windows.

In this New Yorker vein, for years in my Brooklyn apartment I have expended a great deal of energy banging on windows, keeping them off my sills and A/C, shouting, "Get off my lawn!" Occasionally, after weekend trips or even especially pigeon-prolific afternoons, I would come home to find the beginnings of nest assemblies, only to frighten away the builders upon their next return.

In June of 2011, however, I went away for a week, apparently the same week a certain pigeon couple decided it was time to set up shop. When I returned, I found little Lady Bird hunkered down on a fully developed nest. I banged on the window in my usual form, but this time Mom didn't fly away, just startled enough to give me this view:
At which point I likely said something like, "you've gotta be effing kidding me."

Here's the thing. I can't open the window this air conditioner is in. It was there when I moved in, and until I'm ready to cough up for someone to remove it or install a new one, it and anything on it is going to continue to be there. So, I rapidly cycled through the stages of grieving, and finally landed upon acceptance, which took the form of Facebook status updates.

It turned out I wasn't the only person fascinated by the comings and goings of BabyPigeon and family. I received numerous comments and likes to my posted pictures of BP's evolution, most (myself included) never having actually seen pigeon offspring in the flesh. In the ornery, ugly-but-cute, yellow-feathered flesh.

I laughed as the little beast started pecking at me through the window, found myself excited but apprehensive when BP started taking test flights from the A/C to the bathroom ledge and back to the A/C, and eventually felt down-right, no joke sadness the day I realized BP had made his (her?) final test flight, never to return.

Now, I look at pigeons on the street, especially in my neighborhood, in a very different way, always wondering if that was the one that took its first extra-egg breaths as my subletter.