Pest Control?

"Goddammit! She's back!"

Mark ran to the balcony doors, swung it open and shooed away the mama pigeon who had made a nest in our herb garden.

"I admire her tenacity," I said, although that wasn't supportive.

Mark had just thrown away the two eggs she's been sitting upon all week and hardly moved. Her dedication has been remarkable. We debated the termination of the unborn this morning as we walked aisles of Home Depot, looking for - and finding - a plastic owl. Our neighbor Ed swears the owls will scare away the vermin-with-wings. He got two. Today we got the last one left on the shelves. NY pigeons are tough, renowned for their persistence and disdain for the cars and people around them. A fat pest will fly up and away only a few inches to avoid us and then set back to scavenging or waddling.

"Oh. The other two pigeons are attacking her." He stood at the window providing me the play-by-play. "Now she's back and, jeesh, she's - yes she is - she is sitting herself down, probably to lay another egg. I give up!"

"Let me try."

I went out with a roll of irri-tape, scissors, and a stapler. By the time I added three or four more strips of the halogenic-metal, it looked like a mini-prom. She couldn't come back without walking through it and the light and sound has been designed to irritate the pigeons. Last fall I found a piece built into new nest. Still, there is nothing better, so I try again.

She didn't come back. Perhaps she lost her rumble or the deterrents worked or she had nothing to come back for.

When I came back inside, Mark was sitting on the sofa with his laptop in front of him. He had been searching for a second owl to mail order.

"Hey, look. This one has a bobble-head."

Reality Call

The towncar pulled up across the street. I put myself into the backset.

"What is your car number?" I asked.

"25"

I took out my wallet and called the dispatcher from my Blackberry.

"Hellohello. New Bell."

"I'm in car 25 going to JFK. I'd like to pay with my credit card."

"You travel too much." Then he laughed. "You travel too much papi."

"It's all for work," I replied.

"It's a living, papi. It's a living."