Friday, July 3, 2020

Betrayed!!!

Bastards; sneaking, two bit, duplicitous, backstabbing, ungrateful avian Benedict Arnolds!  How could they do this to me?  For some time now I have noticed a distinct absence of pigeons on my balcony.  Oh the occasional bird wandered past but none seemed inclined to stay.  In my innocence and good nature I thought that they may have retired to some secret pigeon laboratory to work on a vaccine for the coronavirus but no, apparently my balcony just isn't good enough any more.

The reason for the sudden absence of pigeons, and the concomitant absence of pigeon shit, from my balcony is sadly different.  The treacherous airborne plague rats have simply moved one balcony over to my neighbour.  There they are cooing, making nests and raising children.  This is despite the fact that my neighbour has placed anti pigeon spikes on pretty much every exposed surface.  Apparently the wretched feathery vermin have decided that the comfortable nooks and plant hangars that decorate my neighbours balcony are a more upscale address than my bare, windswept expanse and the opportunity to settle down there is worth having the occasional one of their number impaled on anti pigeon spikes.

I am outraged!  When I think of everything I did for those thankless, selfish airborne deadbeats.  OK, I guess I didn't do anything for them but there were a lot of things I could have done to them but I nobly refrained.  And this is how they repay me.  My faith in humanity is long gone but I was hoping my faith in pigeonity would last until the grave.  Sadly no, I will have to meet my end faithless and despondent while one balcony over generation after generation of plump, happy pigeons coo in endless mockery of my trust.

Given that an almost disturbing amount of this blog has been given over to bitching about pigeons you may be a little surprised at the depth of my feelings.  Personally I think its Stockholm Syndrome.  I have been captives of these flying dirtbags for so long that I don't know what to do without them.  My stuffed puffin is attempting to fill the gap (please don't let your imagination wander at this point.  I did and now I can't get the images out of my head) but there is only one of him and lets face it, a man has needs.

Of course there are advantages; my balcony is cleaner than it has been in months and the Health Department is no longer considering declaring my flat a hazardous waste zone.  Also I can eat breakfast without hundreds of beady eyes peering at me through the balcony window while I do so.  On the other hand the absence of pigeon crap has ruined my retirement plans as I had intended to set up a phosphate mine on my balcony.  I was expecting to turn my flat into a second Nauru now the only way I can do that is if I rent my balcony out to Home Affairs to intern asylum seekers.  Incidentally am I the only person who thinks that "Minister of Home Affairs" sounds like a fancy title for a pimp?

I'm going to have the last laugh though.  My neighbour has been away but having survived her sojourn in a plague camp has now returned to her apartment and is greatly wrath at the unexpected explosion in the pigeon population.  Steps, quite vigorous steps, are being taken to persuade the pigeons to take their child minding facilities elsewhere.  Pretty soon those pigeons are going to be slinking back to my balcony cooing for forgiveness.  I shall not be kind!


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