Agony Ant vs. Pigeons
This month on the frightfully fractious, alarmingly alliterative animal complaints column, we ponder the plight of pestiferous pigeons.
Dear Anthia,
Doves rock, so what do people have against rock doves? And why do they suddenly get called pigeons when they’re unwelcome? I guess lovey-dovey sounds better than poppety-pigeony, but there must be more to it than that!
LOL- Pool Stigeon
Hello Pool, my fine-feathered friend. You’ve really let the cat out with that one! Pigeons and doves are the same thing?! Like sporks and foons!? Surely not! Well, let’s dive right in.
The first thing to understand is no-one likes the French. A glance at their language explains why: their words for fart and peace are nigh-identical, as are those for fist and point, queen and reindeer (explains why the monarchy didn’t last). They also have six words all meaning owl, and call bats ‘bald mice.’ Diabolical! Most fiendishly, they’ve taken the words venomous and poisonous, which no-one can pick apart, and made them paronyms. So now it’s venomous and vemenous instead!
Anyhow, in 1066, a bloke named William the Conqueror sailed over to England from France. He came, he saw, he left- but not before crushing the Brits. The clue’s in the name. Eventually, William bighead passed the throne to his son- not William the Brave, not William Conquerer Jr. but William Short-stockings. And for the next 300 years, all the rich and powerful people in England spoke French, saying things like “Oh la vache!” and “Pas de croissants? I ‘ave really got mustard up my nose!”
By the time the Frenchies left, their word ‘pigeon’ had joined the English word ‘dove.’ And as a baguette up the backside to the blue-blooded aristosnobs, their beautiful breathy bird-name ‘pigeon’ was turned towards the more un-coo-th contexts. Basically, if it’s big, ugly, pooping or poop-coloured, it’s a pigeon. If it’s cooked, shot, raced or poisoned, feral, foreign, or fighting, it’s a pigeon. And if it’s holy, loving or peaceful, it’s a dove. Sounds fair enough.
Pigeons are like flying pigs: they can fly, and they’re occasionally pink. The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it? Well, they’re also smart like pigs, enjoy art like pigs, and come from Spain like pigs- or is that Picasso? Whatever the case, we humans have been their ‘friends’ for five thousand years, since way before the Greeks invented mythical flying pigs (and failed to name them Pigasus). The BIG question therefore is “How did these birds go from pal to pariah?” That or “Why don’t Greeks have a sense of humour?” Either one.
The first problem with pigeons is they keep on coming back. You just can’t get rid of them! It’s like throwing out a boomerang: you’re sure for a headache. And that’s mostly our fault- people have trained them for millennia to return home carrying letters. Calling them ‘homing pigeons’ probably doesn’t help either. Just like naming William ‘The Conqueror’- it’s asking for trouble! Heck, pigeons were so keen to live up to their name, they domesticated themselves! Yep, as soon as humans started building huts, pigeons were on the scene, setting up shop next door. Lord knows they make the most god-awful nests of any bird, so the added structure of huts must have seemed like manna from heaven. Or like the aliens building Egyptians their pyramids! Take your pick.
The pigeons’ cunning plan worked for a while. They were worshipped alongside the sexy love-war goddess of ancient Mesopotamia, and starred in the Epic of Gilgamesh which the Christians copied for Noah’s ark. The Greeks kept the trend, with doves the symbol of sexy love (no war) goddess Aphrodite, and naturally, the Romans copied them. So, excepting the odd ritual sacrifice, pigeons had it pretty good.
That is, until they encountered problem number two. Pigeons, it turned out, were just a smidgeon too good at that homing thing. And when the Greek city-states fell out, the birds were conscripted as wartime messengers. Guess who copied? The Egyptians and Sumerians, Romans, French and Americans, Swiss, Brits and Germans. So just a few friends, in teen speak! Pigeons have been trussed up and tossed out of planes, targeted by trained enemy falcons, taken as war prisoners and tied to flaming sulfur balls. Plans for pigeon-guided missiles almost took off, but the coo de grâce came in 2014, when Chinese authorities anally probed 10,000 doves for hidden bombs. What a job!
If all that doesn’t strain a relationship, you’re probably married. But it sure as hell shot down our love of pigeons. By the end of the 20th century, they’d gained the moniker ‘rats with wings,’ and rodents were cheesed off about it. However, whilst rats had always been useless pests, pigeons had lost their utility in the modern world. Army pigeon corps were all disbanded, and pigeon jokes deteriorated until people were asking “What’s a pigeon’s favourite guitar?” and “Why did the pigeon cross the road?” You can guess the punchlines.
This, though, is the third and final problem. Cities are humans’ crap attempts at habitats. And pigeons (more or less literally) remind us of that. They crap on our hot, hard pavements and on the impractically-high ledges of skyscrapers. They piss on sweaty commuters and shiny cars stuck in traffic. And yes, since pigeon’s have just one hole, you’re getting a number three for the price of one, each and every time!
Once, not so long ago, pigeon poop was bought and sold. It had value as fertilizer, with the added bonus that it doesn’t smell. I’m told it makes a fine facial as well… apparently. Alas, nowadays, we’re eating food grown from cells and living in towns full of foreign odours. Diseases are going to town on us all cooped up in close confinement, so naturally we take it out on the harmless pigeons as plague spreaders. They’re left out on the streets with the dispossessed, nesting in gutters and fast-food stands. High-fliers no longer.
So, Pool Stigeon, I leave you with this. Our world is filled with two kinds of people: those who shoo pigeons, and those who shoot them. But one man tried to marry a dove. Nikola Tesla, who gave us electricity, fed pigeons in a park for 30 years and was obsessed with them. Wordsworth wrote of them, Darwin bred them, and Queen Victoria collected them. Pigeons have been with us through thick and thin. So next time you’re out, look up for these feathered friends. But don’t open your mouth- because there’s only one way that will end.
Elliot Connor
