Tag Archives: animals

World War III

WWIII has erupted on my balcony.  I am feverishly attempting to make our balcony as inhospitable as possible to the nasty pigeons who have decided to make the balcony their home.  I am quite puzzled by pigeons.  You know the saying, don’t shit where you eat?  Well, apparently pigeons don’t abide by this adage, as they have basically shat all over our balcony, all the while partying underneath our BBQ and shitting on our Corona bottles.

We’ve cleared out the nest, yet they still return.  After doing sufficient online research on how to rid yourself of these flying rodents, I have come to the conclusion that some commonly used impediments simply don’t work.  For example, some have suggested the use of a wooden owl.  However, upon further research, I’ve found that the owl works for about a day.  After approximately 24 hours, the rodents realize that the owl has not moved for said 24 hours and is not real.  The aerial rodents return and end up crapping all over the owl–almost like an F you for buying a $10 plastic owl.

Others suggest hanging a CD or aluminum foil on your balcony.  These also don’t work.  From what I understand, the pigeons ultimately return to the area after realizing that . . . well, that you have hung up a CD or aluminum foil on your balcony.

So the war has begun.  Like Mother Liberty, I do not negotiate with terrorists.  I will not allow these flying harbingers of disease to invade my space.  In the words of Johnny Castle, this is my dance space.  The wild is yours.  If you come into mine, you will face the consequences.  I have unilaterally declared war!  Mwah ha ha!

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Filed under Life, Things I Loathe, WTF?

National Geographic is Filming

On my balcony, that is.  Our lovely balcony in NoVa (that’s what peeps call it around here–y’all better respect!) has been home to at least two acts of wildlife.  Nothing particularly interesting like that time I saw two squirrels humping in Cambridge and how the male squirrel (assuming it was male, since it was the humper) chased after the female who ran away from shame after seeing the gaggle of humans pointing and staring at it while it did its thang.  Anyways, nothing interesting like that.  Let’s take the first instance in March of this year, when a falcon decided to rip a pigeon to shreds on our balcony, leaving in its path of destruction the pigeon’s feathers, blood, and guts (or shit–the jury’s still out on the green substance).  Below, I give you a picture aptly named, PREDATOR!

And yes, for those of you who are particularly perceptive, that is a box of Corona, which of course, officially makes us look like a bunch of college kids.  Well, not so much.  I suppose if we were in college, we couldn’t afford Corona and instead our balcony would be filled with several varieties of Boone’s (Strawberry Fields baby!), a couple boxes of wine (in a box, that is), and a mix of Natty Light and Keystone.

Now, you would think, with such a massacre occurring on our balcony, that pigeons would thereafter be permanently deterred from resting on our balcony.  Although the hubby did the best job he could in removing the feathers (sorry to anyone down below) and eliminating the other substances on the balcony, he certainly was not successful in fully ridding our balcony of Mr. Pigeon’s blood and guts.  Well, pigeons are f*cking stupid.  Because this weekend, we found out that some more pigeons had straight up set up home and shop on our balcony.  Here’s the hubby attempting to shoo the pigeons away:

Thank god our grill, pictured above, was still covered by the mover’s blankets.  Otherwise, anyone coming to our next BBQ will be in for one hell of a surprise.  Umm . . . yeah, that’s guacamole on your burger.  Mmm . . .

So what’s the point of this story?  Well, first, I hate birds.  I don’t know why anyone could think birds are cute.  They’re nasty.  They shit all over the place (this picture does not in anyway impart how foul (or fowl!) it smelt out there).  They stink.  They have nasty ass claws.  They don’t fetch.  They don’t sit on your lap.  They don’t even lick peanut butter off a spoon and lick their lips incessantly while drooling all over your feet as you laugh at their predicament.  To me, if it’s a bird, it either belongs on someone else’s farm, or on my plate.  Damn.  I want some dim sum.

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Filed under Things I Loathe, WTF?