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August 21, 2004
Pigeons
In all my twenty-six years, few experiences have seriously tested my mental and emotional fortitude. Climbing Mt. Fuji while suffering from altitude sickness and asthma was at the top of the list—until today, where a new incident now threatens to displace it. But first, let me recap my day so far.
After leaving the café, I strolled back to Höglands Park and found a seat on a bench. I found my place in Into Africa: The Epic Adventures of Stanley and Livingstone and was quickly engrossed. I spent the next couple hours reading and enjoying the sunshine, and also observing the people in the park. There was a stand set up for Svengis Hunndag, which I take to mean Swedish Dogs (and to prove my point, there were dogs aplenty). They appeared to be providing information on how to adopt dogs, and how to keep them healthy. There was one wooly sheepdog-like animal that was particularly cute, but also extremely loud—choosing to bark every other second and riling up all the other dogs as they passed by.
I was also struck by all the children running around on the playground equipment. They were mostly accompanied by their fathers (many of whom belonged to the attractive Viking strain), who seemed to delight in watching them go down the slide and around the merry-go-round. Sigh. It was very charming.
About noon it got cloudy so I packed up and hopped the bus home. Now, I would like to retract my earlier criticisms about the apartment. On further reflection, it isn't so bad—and it even feels like it might be "home"—once the furniture arrives. I had a sandwich (ham and cheese again), chips and salsa, and a nectarine for lunch—quite yummy if I do say so myself. While making the sandwich I discovered that a thawed tomato and orange are not fit for human consumption, but are instead reduced to pulpy masses. And so the $3 tomato and $1.50 orange went in the trash.
After lunch I continued reading my book. All was quiet for a couple minutes when I heard it: the sound of cooing pigeons.
Now, many of you know that my greatest fear is birds. I may have mentioned something about this phobia in an earlier post. But I would like to again emphasize how much I loathe and despise birds—for their filth, their ability to peck your eyes out, and their overall evil nature. I seriously would rather touch an electric eel than touch a bird. So keeping that in mind, please imagine my horror to hear cooing.
I had shut the windows before going out this morning, so I was pretty sure they weren't in the house. I walked through the kitchen out to the balcony, where I found two pigeons sitting on the ledge and making their atrocious noises. I clapped my hands sharply, and they flew away—but not before casting malevolent looks my way. I breathed a sigh of relief and started to walk back to the safety of my room when I happened to look down. And then I saw it:
A dead pigeon.
Now—this was no ordinary dead pigeon. Oh no. This was an abnormally large pigeon that was lying on my balcony in a pool of its own blood with its eyes pecked out. My best guess is that it flew into the kitchen window and broke its neck, and then other birds came to feast on its corpse (see how evil they are?).
I almost threw up my lunch upon seeing this gruesome sight. It was several of my worst fears together:
* There was a bird on my balcony.
* It was dead.
* It had no eyes.
* It was in a pool of blood.
* There were other scavenger birds just waiting to peck my eyes out.
* I could call no one for help.
I briefly considered all the options.
* Could I push the bird over the balcony, thus making it someone else's problem? No— the space between the balcony and the walls was too narrow to fit the carcass between. Moreover, the walls of the balcony would require that I pick up the bird to throw it over.
* Could I wait until Monday, when I could potentially contact my landlord for help? No—the other birds were hovering nearby, eager to get another chance at the corpse. I couldn't live for another two days knowing it was being scavenged just feet from where I was sleeping. Additionally, this would prevent me from opening any windows on that side of the apartment.
* Could I solicit help from a neighbor? Perhaps—although I haven't met any neighbors on my floor, there are always men hanging out in the backyard, or lounging in their bird-free balconies (lucky bastards). I perused the selection of available men. The only ones outside were a couple of Middle Eastern gentlemen who I "met" the day before, when they said what I assume to be inappropriate things as I walked to the grocery store. I wasn't about to invite them up to my apartment, no matter how bad the bird situation got.
* Could I take the bird to the trash myself? Are you kidding me? Seriously, are you kidding? It's a dead, bloody, eye-less bird! And I have no implements to help me get this mutilated enemy off the balcony, down 5 flights of stairs, and into the garbage bin a half block away.
I began to reconsider inviting strangers into my apartment. But then—inspiration! I decided to grit my teeth, clench my gag reflex, and do it myself.
I took some of the heavy-duty plastic wrap from the packaging of my temporary bed and the box from my hair dryer. I went out to the balcony, spread the plastic wrap on the floor, and used the box to prod the bird onto the wrap. I should point out that the bird's head had somewhat dried to the floor, so it was no mean feat to get it onto the plastic. Again, the urge to vomit.
Once the bird was in the plastic wrap (and keeping a sharp eye out for other birds who might be watching), I wrapped it up and stuffed it into the plastic bag from the hairdryer-buying experience. Pinching the bag closed with the tiniest part of two fingers, I quickly trotted down the stairs, out the door, and over to the garbage bin. The dirty deed accomplished, I went back to the apartment and dumped several cups of water on the balcony to dilute the pool of blood (which, I assume, would attract even more birds—shudder). Unfortunately, I was only able to rinse away some of the blood, since part of it had dried to a crust. (Are you disgusted with this detail? Imagine how I felt!) And with no cleaning implements in the empty apartment, that's where the story ends. I thoroughly washed my hands and went back to my room. Somehow, I think that I won't be using that balcony much…
So while I'm revolted by this afternoon's proceedings, I'm also feeling quite confident in my ability to handle any of life's future problems. With that, I present this quotation that captures my current feelings.
Be grateful for the home you have, knowing that at this moment, all you have is all you need. Sarah Ban Breathnach American Author
