The Pigeon War continues: Ambushed!

In a day that I can only imagine is a concerted revenge attempt for the Great Coffee Pigeon Enema, I was ambushed twice. I can safely say that I lost on both occasions.

I imagine that the following reports were received at Pigeon HQ, to be examined and scrutinised by Pigeon Intelligence. Possibly medals were discussed and awarded.

**************

07:42 a.m.

Target opened front door of flat. Your agent fearlessly and without heed of personal danger flung herself upwards and into target's face, screaming "Pigeons FOREVERRRRR!"

Target squawked (Like when Our Aunt Maude laid that funny shape egg? That noise.), windmilled arms, overbalanced and landed on posterior in flat hallway.

Your agent contemplated defecating on hall carpet, but was laughing too hard to take this action.

Target attempted to crawl towards door and punch agent at same time, resulting in target face-planting on carpet and screaming "Bloody pigeons!" repeatedly.

Once target regained footing and stood upright, your agent decided it would be prudent to leave vicinity while target was muttering to itself and picking feathers out of her hair.

Your agent notes with some satisfaction that target limped most of the way down the road, whilst rubbing posterior and muttering.

Mission accomplished.

- Dispatch ends.

******************

19:03 p.m.

Your agent has achieved the pinnacle of timing and good aim! Long Live Pigeons! 

Target arrived at train station and stepped outside to get away from Strange Farting Human.  With careful consideration, your agent was able to position himself just over the doorway, and release The Bowels of Doom as target stepped outside.

Target was struck on nose.

Target screamed, cursed at agent, shook fist at agent, and used five separate tissues and hand sanitiser on nose. Strange Farting Human lurched away saying something about crazy people being everywhere in London.

Target got on train with bright red nose.

Mission accomplished.

 - Dispatch ends.

****************

I intend being re-incarnated as a hawk. 

The Great Pigeon Coffee Enema Moment - London Pigeon War update

I was at Euston station bright and early (7:30 a.m) for a trip up to Liverpool today. Usually, the Pigeon Wars are fought in cities large and small across the UK. They involve pigeons either defecating, regurgitating or dive bombing me, while I shake my fist and fantasise about growing my own pair of wings some fine day. Payback, honey. With bells. (Although with my luck, I'd end up flying into the side of a building.)

And then things like this morning happen. I'm going to call this one a draw.

I reached Euston with about a half hour to spare before the train left, so I went outside to the little coffee area. If you don't know it, it's set up with a row of assorted booths (pies, donuts, sausages, sushi) opposite a chain coffee shop and a diner. In the middle are poured cement benches and bolted-down tables, since in this part of London NOT bolting down tables would result in a sudden and abrupt lack of them. Everywhere sells coffee, from the little pie place to the donut counter. Since I love my coffee, this makes me happy.

It was pretty quiet; the main rush at Euston starts around 8 a.m. I love these little moments of quiet in the middle of London; I get to sit down with my steaming cup of liquid bliss and people watch.  This morning there was one drunk draped over a bench in the far corner, snoring happily, one large lady with an impressive set of dreadlocks and a bright pink and orange tracksuit, and two middle-aged businessmen, all scattered around the tables and watching the world rev up it's engines.

And then I heard that give-away flutter behind me. I ducked as first one, then two, then three pigeons swooped past my ear, brushing over my shoulder and the table-top before bouncing triumphantly on their toes as they landed. We eyed each other. I checked my coat for calling cards.

The pigeons took flight again, and I ducked my head, hoping this wasn't a strafing run.

I'd been in the process of adding sugar to my coffee, so the lid was off. (It was 7:30. I needed sweetening up, trust me on this.)

The first pigeon blew past my cheek again, closely followed by the second. The third had what I can only call the ultimate birdy moment of oops, and landed with its feathered butt in my coffee.

I drink my coffee black, and it hadn't had time to cool off yet.

You know when you see footage of an animal's face, and you know just what they were thinking?

Pigeon : That's... that's not right. Something went wron-HothothothotOHGAWDMYNADS!!!!!!!

Me: *Speechless*

Pigeon : OHGAWDOHGAWD Get this THING OFF ME! I'm being ATTAAAAACKED!!!

Me: There's a certain justice to this...

At which point the pigeon ascended majestically, and at roughly the speed of a pigeon with a very, very toasty rear end, and flew up over the top of the station building.

Physics being what it is, there was a certain displacement of coffee in the process. There were also feathers, some fragments of which I was still picking out of my eyebrows when I got to Liverpool just after 11 a.m. Judging by what was left in the cup, that bird puckered. Hard.

By the time I'd cleaned off both the coffee and the larger feathers in the train station (apparently some things can still make Londoners raise an eyebrow. Looking like you've just motor-boated a pigeon being one of them) my train was boarding, and there was no time to grab a refill.

So, while I'm still kinda sulking over losing my coffee, being a witness to self-administered coffee enema by one of my feathered nemesis did balance it out, hence me calling this a draw.

I do wish I'd had my phone out, though. I've never seen an expression quite like that on a London pigeon before.

Zombie Duck followup, or How to Make Your Butcher Weep, & the Return of the Pigeons

I've been tormented by birds this week. First the Zombie Duck debacle, then my old foes, the Pigeons, who attempted to splat on me Friday while I waited on the platform for my connecting train.

Me (Hears splat and looks down at puddle of white next to the toe of my boot): Bloody pigeons. (Looks up. There is a large black feathered bag of evil smirking at me & wiggling its tail feathers.)
Bag of Evil: *CoooEeee!* It carefully shuffles further across on its perch and aims a feathered butt at me. 
I move. Splat!
Me: Missed, you bugger!
Bag of Evil: *Gah!* Shuffle. Aim. Fire.
Me: WTF? Missed again, though. At this point I moved further down the platform, to the very edge of the sheltered area.
Bag of Evil: *OooooOOOOO* Shuffle Shuffle Shuffle. Aim. Fire.
Me (hastily side-stepping): I swear I will climb up there and kick your feathered arse...

It should be pointed out that issuing threats of violence at pigeons while shaking your fist at them results in a very clear space around you, and the general refusal of any fellow traveller to meet your line of sight. I spent the remaining 8 minutes on that platform in the unsheltered area, keeping an eye out for incoming bird missiles and feeling my face turn numb, which did not improve my temperament. Nobody got on the same carriage as me.

                                                       ******************


On Saturday I wandered down to the butcher shop. I needed mince to make hamburgers, and these guys also sell some organic vegetables that blow the supermarket produce out of the water for taste, size, and price.

I also wanted to warn them about Zombie Duck, since I have no idea what caused it or whether any other customers had the same issue.

The guy I usually deal with is a friendly chap - always smiling, always with a cheery greeting for everyone. It's one of the reasons I keep going in there; that and their meat quality is excellent. Zombie Duck was an aberration.

Butcher: Hello, there. How were the tongues?
Me: Tongues were great, thank you. Bit of a problem with the duck, though.
Butcher looks mortified: What happened?
Me: It turned green in the oven.
Butcher: What???? (His lower lip starts to quiver.)
Me: Never had that happen before. Has anyone else had that?
Butcher (Shaking head violently): No. Oh, god. Oh, my. I'm so sorry. I'm just-
He breaks off to ring my stuff up. His eyes are starting to - Oh, my dear Gods - my butcher is trying not to cry.
Me (starting to babble): I just thought you needed to know. I'll probably order more tongue soon. Thanks, bye!
I grabbed my purchases and fled. As I stepped outside, I glanced back to see the poor man slumped against a wall, shoulders shaking ever so slightly, and one of his colleagues patting him on the arm.

I walked home feeling mortified. I don't like feeling that I was cause of someone feeling so desolate they had to cry. To be honest, I never know what to do when someone starts crying at the best of times, and having it happen over £10 bird was a bit more than I expected.

I have even more respect for the powers of the undead, though.

Zombie Duck made my butcher weep.