Happy dispatches

About two/three weeks ago (is my guess) a pigeon family set up home on the peripheries of the balcony of my parents’ place. The balcony is the part of the house I most ignore. There’s no particular reason for this, but it does explain why I only noticed them when the mummy-to-be made enough of a ruckus one morning to draw my attention to the two eggs she’d left behind when she flew away. To those who are unlikely to read until the end, long story short, one of those eggs has hatched to reveal a cute little squab. Yes, that’s what baby pigeons are called. And that’s my fact for the day.

Now, to those who chose to stay, back to a little less than two weeks ago, when I first discovered this nest. Here’s my dilemma: I’ve always considered pigeons rats of the sky. And while rats absolutely deserve space to live and what-not, their exponential population growth should not necessarily be encouraged. But given that these pigeons, and subsequently their eggs, had already been laid, question is: what do I do? Can’t shift the nest elsewhere, because pigeons are apparently super specific about the position of their nests, and will keep flying in, confused, if the nest is shifted. Besides, for the purposes of good health, stepping out of the house wasn’t possible, so why would I get out of my place, take a family that was already, honestly, kind of outside my place, and take them just a little bit further out of my place.

Besides, emotionally, this was not my reaction at all. Here’s an onomatopoeic recreation/representation of my emotional response: awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. 

So I did the best thing I was told I could: I kept out of their way entirely. This was easy. I was only alerted to the existence of the balcony by the existence of this family of pigeons. Apparently it takes a total of two to three weeks for the babies to hatch, a little bit more for them to learn to fly, and just a little bit more for them to fly off to their next adventure. Then, I told myself, if you must, make all the peripheries of your house unconducive to egg-laying, and you’re good to go. Or don’t, whatever you wish.

Yesterday, one of the two eggs hatched from underneath mama bird to reveal a little beak reaching out. One of the eggs had hatched. The other is still very much an egg so far. Theories are: a. it’s unfertilised, or b. it’s not hatched yet. Only time will tell which. But perhaps more critically, at a time like this, it was oddly life-affirming seeing that cute little squab emerge. Needless to say, I’ve grown really attached to this happy little family, and wish them all the best. Also, I’d like to assure everybody that the peripheries of the balcony are not caked in bird poop, and I’d have to go out of my way to come in contact with the birds, so no precautions required apart from never leaving the house, washing self a hundred times a day, not ordering outside food, and doing all household chores completely by myself, all alone.