How to get rid of Pigeons....

The following story is true…as far as I was told.  You see I wasn’t around for this little Jacobs family adventure, it happened before I was born; in a different house in a far away city…or so all good stories should begin. 

            It turns out in those early days of my family, the pre-me days, my parents had a bit of a problem with pigeons.  The pigeons who hung out around my parents’ house had developed a taste for the dog food my dad used for the family canine.  The pigeons would wait on the telephone wire above the backyard…and wait…and wait…until the dog was fed and the humans became scarce.  Then they would converge on the backyard and wait for the dog to leave her food long enough to snatch a bite. 

            Now if it were 5 or 6 pigeons that would be fine.  However, news must have traveled fast in the pigeon world because that telephone line would be sagging under the weight of 80-100 pigeons daily.  And where you have a copious amount of pigeons, you have a copious amount of….droppings.  The backyard got a fresh coat of “white wash” daily. 

            My dad and older brother took it upon themselves to unleash the fury of a pellet gun on the unwelcomed guests.  But for every 10 they killed 15 would show up the next day to take their places.  What to do, what to do.

            It so happened that one particular day my dad was switching radio stations when he caught the tail end of an interview about how to get rid of unwanted fowl.  He listened intently.  The end of the instructions informed the listeners to soak a bucket of dried corn in alcohol until all the liquid was gone and then distribute around where the nuisance was.  The birds eat the corn, fly off and don’t come back.  The plan was simple.  It was a godsend.  It was doable.  It was slightly misunderstood!!!  You see where the instructions called for rubbing alcohol to be used to kill the birds, my dad, having only heard the last part of the interview, thought a little Jack Daniels was in order.  Yes, my dad was going to use drinking alcohol to get rid of the pigeons.

            He bought the corn and headed to the liquor store to buy the cheapest rot-gut whiskey he could get his hands on (think one part anti-freeze 2 parts pig swill).  Being Mormon, no one in my family drinks, so dumping liquor on corn was no big deal.  According to the alcoholic neighbor who lived next door to my parents at the time, it was a horrible waste.

            The corn was soaked and ready to be dispersed.  My dad went out to feed the dog, being watched by scores of drooling pigeons.  But that day was different, instead of dodging bird droppings while trying to feed the dog, my dad gleefully tossed liquor soaked corn onto the ground with reckless abandon.  I don’t know if birds are suspicious, but you would think they would question the motives of a man who had been trying to kill them all this time freely handing out food.  They didn’t seem too concerned, as I was told.  They ate with gusto.

            Then the fun started.  My family watched, hoping the birds would fly off to forgetfulness and never return.  Instead they had a front row seat to a flock of inebriated birds just trying to function.  The pigeons started to stagger like a DUI suspect trying to walk a straight line.  They couldn’t seem to keep their balance and keep upright.  A few who tried to fly did so with no great success.  One tried to land on top of the fence but missed and hit the ground just beyond it.  A second bird tried to find shelter from a spinning world by flying up and roosting in my parents avocado tree.  Instead, the unlucky fowl flew straight up the trunk of the tree and never made it out.  An explosion of feathers and leaves shot out the top of the tree, the fate of the bird was never quite determined. 

            A third pigeon made it over the fence, over the tree but seemed to grow exhausted from the effort and simply glided straight down and into the open doors of a liquor store.  It flew head first into a candy rack.  The last thing to cross the poor bird’s mind was probably a pack of m&m’s.  The remaining problem pests tripped, staggered and flopped their way into wobbly flight off to their various nests….or AA meetings.  And soon the backyard was empty of unwanted birds. 

            My dad, when he finally stopped laughing, realized that he might have been mistaken in what kind of alcohol to use.  He was hoping to kill off the vermin, but instead gave them their very first hangover.  The funny thing about this whole mix up?  Not one pigeon came back to bother them again. 

Thank You and Sorry

There are 2 things I desperately hope to see or better yet experience before I die.  #1 my kids coming back and apologizing for all the grief they have and will give me in this growing up process; and #2 my kids coming back and thanking me for letting them live to adulthood (with minimal mental scarring).   It’s true.  I have a very short bucket list.  I hope these things happen before I die because it would seriously irk me to be watching from a disembodied state as my kids cry (hopefully not dance) over my grave saying things like, “Why didn’t I say sorry for all the grief I caused her when I was growing up?  And I really should have said thank you for letting me live to adulthood with minimal mental scarring.”

            I say this because I have started to thank and apologize to my own mom.  And though she snickers in a condescending way, I’d like to think she’s pleased at this act and also proud that I was humble enough to do this. It actually all started shortly after I got married.  Grocery shopping with my otherwise perfect husband showed me a dark and sinister side to him; a side I had also exhibited as a pre-teen brat toward my mom. 

It turns out my husband had no morals when it came to smashing bread.  I would lovingly place a perfect loaf of whole wheat bread gently in the cart, giving it a protective place of honor.  My husband saw it as a perfect cushion for the gallon of milk he was totting.  I almost screamed in horror.  My fluffy loaf of wheat goodness was now flatbread.  I scowled and hissed through gritted teeth, “Do you know how hard it is to make a sandwich with misshapen bread?!?!”  He just chuckled like it was no big deal.  And then, at this point something strange happened.  I had a sort of out of body experience.  I was an awful kid and I was the one chuckling to my mom’s gritted teeth and bulging eyes.  I was the culprit turning perfectly square bread into triangles.  I had aggravated my mom….and I had done it on purpose….just to be a snot.

  I needed to apologize.  I called my mom a few weeks later and told her I was sorry.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mom laugh that hard.  I’ve called her many times since then, especially now that I have kids.  I’ve apologized for being a picky eater and throwing tantrums in the store.  I’ve also apologized for fighting with my brother to the point that she wanted to kick us out of a moving vehicle because, you know, I have now been down that road in her position and I’ve wanted to kick kids out of a moving vehicle.  I hope my kids will remember this.

            Sadly, though, I haven’t said enough thank you's.  I really need to because I know that while I was growing up there were times my mom had an adoption agency on speed dial, ready to give me up to any other family but thankfully she didn’t.  So here are a few things I will be thanking my mom for; first off, she let me live to adulthood, a miracle, considering how much of a pain I could be.  I want to thank her for pretending to like some of my music just to avoid an argument.  I would thank her for enduring a couple of my friends even though I know she was hoping to see their pictures on the back of  milk cartons (with a caption underneath saying: “last seen with wandering band of Gypsies heading toward the border”).  Mostly I would thank her for all the love and raising me to be a responsible loving adult.  Yeah, she let me live to be an adult, but I became an honest, kind, good (although somewhat unhinged) adult because of her.  So I really need to thank my mom for that. 

And about my husband?  Chris has since seen the light.  Once we had kids and he had to start making his own lunch he saw the error of his ways. It’s really not fun to make a sandwich with squished bread….I’m still waiting for my apology.