Much a-doo-doo about pigeons
A hullaballoo about pigeon poo? our columnist finally fends off a feathered foe.
BALCONIES are prime space for city apartment dwellers here. Despite their odd shapes or narrow areas, this is where those without gardens can enjoy sundowners al fresco during the all-too-brief summers. Those with green thumbs can also indulge their passion by planting their favourite seasonal bulbs and herbs in pots and window boxes.
So, when the winter finally ended, my husband and I laid our plans for our balcony this year. Honestly, it’s almost always the same: a Mediterranean look with blooms of blazing blue, dazzling yellow and vivid fuchsia in terracotta pots.
But alas, we had to postpone our plans by about three weeks because of a pair of pigeons. These feathered fiends had apparently picked our balcony to become their port-a-loo.
What was worse is that our balcony can only be accessed via the door that leads out of our kitchen. That meant being greeted every morning by the unsightly fruits of the birds’ evidently healthy digestive tracts.
Turned out that they had found a nifty nook on the window ledge of our neighbour upstairs and thought it fit for their toilette. In fact they became so brazen that one of them even deposited a number on my cat that had been lazily sunning itself outside.
We resorted to lining the doorstep with large bin bags to save us the hassle of having to wash the balcony every second day. But the pigeons cottoned on to this and cleverly targeted areas beyond the bags’ perimeters, too. That did it. The pigeons had to go. Before animal lovers castigate me, pigeons are called “rats of the air” and it is a fact that there are diseases derived from their droppings including Cryptococcosis, a form of lung infection and Bird Fancier’s Lung (BFL), a type of hypersensitivity pneumonitis. So, it doesn’t get any worse than having it close to where you handle or cook your food.
Now, the cooing culprits’ favourite daytime hangout is the neighbouring restaurant’s glass roof. That effectively ruled out the use of a slingshot. Besides, given our dexterity, my husband and I figured we might just end up maiming ourselves. Hence a brief meeting was convened with our landlady and our janitor.
I proffered a simple solution: shoot them.
A collective gasp went round as if I had just suggested impaling a Golden Retriever pup on a stake and waving it at the winged vermin!
“Frau Haas, it is against the law to shoot those birds. Besides, they could belong to someone,” intoned our landlady, clearly aghast.
“But we’ve done it back home with the crows. In fact, people got paid for every one they shot,” I interjected. I was greeted with barely concealed wonderment as to what other uncivilised pest control methods we undertake in the Far East.
Turns out that the only form of shooting permitted around here is clay pigeon-shooting. Clearly that was not going to resolve our problem.
Herr Balucic, the janitor, proffered a less deadly solution: placing a fake raven on the opposite windowsill. This is a common sight in the city as the pigeons apparently are well, scared-sh**, of the ravens. As our landlady and he were leaving however, he muttered under his breath to me, “I own an air gun. I’d do it if it were not illegal.” Clearly, clearing our inner courtyard of the pigeons’ droppings was getting to Herr Balucic, too.
This decoy, however, provided only temporary respite as the duo