An Open Letter to All Pigeons... Everywhere

Dear pigeons,

I hope this letter finds you well – your feathers clean, your little bellies bursting with food, your fragile legs both very much in tact and functioning, and your eyes uninfected and each fitted snugly into their itsy-bitsy little sockets.

I am writing to you today seeking answers to some concerns I have. We’ve known each other for quite some time now, pigeons, and I feel we’ve reached a point in our relationship where we can be honest with each other – brutally, beautifully honest.

Despite my attempts to teach you manners, you still do not move for passers-by on the sidewalk. The other day I saw a man step on a pigeon. How one gets close enough to a healthy bird to step on it is beyond my comprehension and, more importantly, inexcusable on your part. I’ve noticed that small animals like you pigeons (chipmunks, squirrels, etc.) have become increasingly unafraid of humans, when the reality is that you should be. Make no mistake: we are at the top of the food chain. Remember that thing we talked about? Apparently not. And you guys paid your stepped-on friend no mind. I heard him squawk, and you didn’t even blink or budge. You just focused on picking at bread crumbs stuck in the pavement. Which, the more I think about it, is probably understandable…

I know bread crumbs are about as good as it gets for you, contrary to my efforts to explain the food pyramid. Guys, human vomit is not part of that pyramid, but rather some weird exodus of the pyramid’s semi-digested contents. This stuff is NOT OK to eat! Not food! Alas, I saw you on Monday on the corner of Market and Powell. I’m not going to name names, ahem, Percy, but Jesus Christ let the piece of corn floating in the puke go! It’s not worth it! You’re walking, practically swimming in it and I can see your little barf footprints on the sidewalk – haphazard, wandering aimlessly, circling back on each other three and four times over. For God’s sake – was the bum drunk?

You guys know better. I know you do.

And the pooping. Oh Lord, the pooping. Can’t you find a nice patch of grass to unload on? How about Golden Gate Park, for starters? The place is more than 1,000 acres of woodlands! Even those of you with poor aim and one leg wouldn’t miss! But no. Five of you chose my rental car in the 15 minutes it took me to double park and grab a coffee. Thanks. Nice shots.

At this point, pigeons, I can only hope we don’t have to see too much of each other around town. This city is big enough for the both of us, so should you feel these differences are irreconcilable, I will understand and move on with the rest of my life, pigeon-free.

Fondly,
Mundane Affair