Pigeons: Precision Poopers

Planning a precision strike on humans

Descending the stairs, my hand on the narrow metal railing, I feel something wet, icky... eww! Yep, pigeon poop. On that think railing less than an inch thick. Talk about precision swoop and poop.

How about the time I was staring at my feet in a schoolyard? So emo and loner, I know. Didn't even notice a thing until others started making a fuss. You know, backing away, pointing, laughing since I wasn't enough of a social misfit already. I can be oblivious but not THAT oblivious. That was a stealth precision strike right on the shoulder of my coat.

Isn't it bad enough that they love to roost on my house? One raised a family on my crumbling bedroom window sill. Hello? Crumbling: not a safe place to raise your kids. Plenty of other solid spots on all the other neighborhood houses. And their endless cooing is so darn loud...

Too bad I don't believe in hurting living creatures. I once tried to trap a cockroach but accidentally chopped it in half when it put on a sudden burst of speed. Hold still, you idiots. I dont want to kill you... yet. OK, maybe never, I'm squeamish that way.