'Stacks of a feather

city field notes from a fan-them

For all my life, pigeons have been ubiquitous.

I can’t pinpoint the precise moment I began actually noticing them, let alone the moment that noticing grew into fondness and that fondness blossomed into an obsession. But it likely aligns with those first trips to NYC, specifically Brooklyn.

Well, obsession is probably a bit of an exaggeration. It’s more like I’m a fan-them. Now that I see them, I can’t unsee them. Yet instead of seeing them en masse and missing the feathers for the flock, so to speak, I see them with inexhaustible delight.

Apparently animal control in NYC says there could be one pigeon per person in the city (including all the boroughs), which would place this population around 9 million. Which, let’s just say, translates to half a million or more potential pigeons in Brooklyn, though it’s nearly impossible to get an accurate count.

Whatever the case, that’s a lot of fluffing pigeons, y’all.

When I first visited my Boo in Brooklyn, I toddled along like a, well, toddler, pointing at the sky, the trees, the sidewalks, the rooftops, the subway station eaves, crying “Oooo pigeon!” I cooed to them as if I were practicing the Pigeon I was learning as a language on Duolingo. I’d sometimes get a cockeyed glance, but mostly they ignored me and continued on with their pigeoning, as city pigeons do.

I remember sitting outside a vegan donut shop in Williamsburg, savoring my chocolate peanut butter pastry, when I noticed one pecking at a plastic bag in the middle of the street that may have contained discarded takeout. Concerned for the bird’s safety (and being the sucker I am), I began tearing off pieces of my expensive pastry and tossing them on the sidewalk. Instead of attracting the pigeon’s attention, I manifested a tiny flock of opportunistic sparrows, but eventually, the pigeon caught on and joined the fray.

It became a game, where the goal was to toss a crumb of donut directly in the pigeon’s path, ideally right at their feet. But even then, that several seconds of pause where the pigeon processed that food was literally a peck away, was enough for a sparrow to swoop in and snatch it up before the pigeon blinked. Like a child playing the game where they try to line up a metal claw to pick up a stuffed animal and keep feeding the machine with coins because next time is definitely it, I kept tossing my pearls before the pigeon.

And it was then I learned that 1) pigeons are not the sharpest birds in the city and 2) I was willing to scatter my precious vegan donut on the sidewalk just for the hope of getting a piece of it in a pigeon’s mouth.

So yeah. Maybe that was the moment.

I was — and still am — partial to black and white or the occasional dappled brown and white pigeon. That’s when my cooing gets particularly boisterous. Imagine my glee when, upon moving in with my Boo in Brooklyn this past Saturday, I noticed a black and white pigeon in the neighborhood flock across the street, pecking along the sidewalk. I tiptoed over to them (why, I’m not sure) and crouched down, speaking in adoring gibberish and snapping pictures rapid fire.

Swiping through the pictures, it was evident that this pigeon had pizazz. They looked as if they were practicing for NYC Fashion Week, strutting the runway of the sidewalk like they owned the place.

I named them Pepe le Pigeon.

Several days later, walking through Prospect Park, mere blocks away, I saw P le P, nestled in a flock alongside a cement path — the one of their kind in the bunch. That’s when I decided, what the puff, I ought to start another ‘Stack featuring the glorious pigeons I befriend in Brooklyn. I mean, I can’t promise it will remain pigeon-exclusive (this is me, after all, friend of all wild creatures), but I’ll try to keep it pigeon-centric — try being the operative word.

On that honest and dubious note, I leave you with the illustrious Pepe.

Feast your eyes, but perhaps hold onto your donuts. I’m well stocked with the appropriate seed now to bribe my way into friendship.

“ ‘Stacks of a feather flock together," as my Boo christened this new publication. For those with similar feathered obsessions, I welcome you to the flock. And so does Pepe.

Coo coo,

Phoenix