I like Pigeons. I always have. I love wandering around an area of land drenched with humans and their buildings (otherwise known as a city, in some circles) and seeing things that aren't of our species. For the same reason I like seeing dogs, cats, seagulls; even your occasional urban fox.
If I have food on me I'll almost always spare a chunk for a pigeon. Their shiny colourful necks and clueless (yet eerily purposeful) wanderings just make me want to give them a hand. Some day I hope they might repay the favour if i'm ever struggling for food.
The reason I'm talking about this was the little white and grey-smudged mother pigeon I just saw make nest in a gutter outside my kitchen. I was washing the mountain of dishes I'd let accumulate, and this little thing was grooming itself and basking in the late summer breeze. The nest was just a wee thing, so I decided to leave out some tissue paper and food on my windowsill. My parents have a host of bird-life thanks to their efforts in the back garden at home; maybe I'm about to make my first birdie friend.
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