In Which We Consider the Delicate Art of Love

Spring has sprung, and my favorite sign of the blossoming and blooming new season is the pigeon mating habits.  If you have never watched pigeons in the springtime, then you are probably one of the people that likes to pretend that pigeons don't exist.  Let me establish, first of all, that I am not much of a fan of pigeons.  They are undoubtedly filthy, they encourage people to throw bread on the ground (which Rosie likes to eat), and they have pooped on me on one occasion.  On the other hand, there is something I find extremely comforting about pigeons.  They are proof that animal life can exist in the city beyond just us humans, but more importantly they are sometimes a joy to watch.

I find it endlessly entertaining to imagine what a pigeon is thinking, because they move and behave in what seem to me to be completely inexplicable ways.  When spring rolls around, the male pigeons start to puff their chests out, fan their tail feathers, make aggressive cooing noises, and chase after female pigeons, just bumping their bodies against them at every possible opportunity.  I have never seen this work out to a male pigeon's advantage.  The females look annoyed and try to just ignore them, going about their business as usual, but once a male pigeon has bumped into her enough, she finally gets fed up and just flies away.  The male pigeon usually just folds his feathers, tucks his chest in, and goes about as if nothing had happened.

As a male of my own species, I take this as an important lesson.  Not the part about strutting around and literally bumping into random women, even though part of me suspects that is how the majority of men end up getting laid, but the male pigeon's reaction to rejection.  He moves on.  There are other fish in the sea, or rats-with-wings on the poop-encrusted statue, he says, and I will not be discouraged because one woman doesn't see what a catch I am, with my stupendously puffed-out chest and sultry cooing!  And off he goes, to find someone who appreciates him for the wonderful and thoughtful lover that he is.  Or so I like to think, at least.