A few days ago, I found myself sitting on a curb eating lunch in downtown Los Angeles.
Behind me, a recently opened (and likely soon to be closed) low-end restaurant was trying to lure customers off the street by playing loud pop dance music, as if that would influence the average passing wino's appetite for burgers or burritos.
A pigeon landed a few feet from me; sizing me up as a potential candidate for a free meal. Now, pigeons are considered pests. They're dismissed as "flying rats" even by bird lovers. Is it just because there are so many of them?
I could see intelligence in his (her?) eyes, judging me: was I a threat, or a friend?
I once read that higher-order birds can be identified by walking, as opposed to hopping. Cute little sparrows hop. Eagles, hawks, and yes, pigeons walk -- and my iridescent friend here not only walked, he trotted along in time to the dance music blaring from the diner.
I about busted a gut laughing. Where was my video camera when I needed it? It was as if John Travolta, circa Saturday Night Fever, had wrapped himself in a pigeon suit and was strutting down this decaying LA sidewalk.
How can anyone hate pigeons after a performance like that?
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