Pigeons

The woods behind our house play host to many pairs of wood pigeons, whose call I find quite restful, though it has to be admitted that other members of the household do not share that perception. They have a point, I suppose; the pigeons do tend to go on a bit! We also have regular visits from collared doves, which, little more than fifty years on from their first arrival in the UK, having spread across Europe from Asia Minor, are now (along with the wood pigeon) firmly established in the top ten most seen garden birds.

But we also get town pigeons, the feral descendants of domesticated rock doves. I don't mind; they are pleasant enough visitors, and help to clean up under the feeders. But we are beginning to get more and more of them, and I don't want to get the reputation of being a soft touch among Welshpool's population of feral pigeons. Clearly, our garden has acquired the pigeon equivalent of the tramp's secret chalkmark on the gate: "Kind-hearted and gullible," it probably says - something like that.

But no more. Tonight I decided it was time to just unsettle "our" pigeons a bit, and - while I wouldn't want to drive them away altogether - make sure they don't feel too welcome. Our heavy-duty water-shooter, all in bright plastic so as to appeal to junior followers of Arnold Schwarzenegger, has seen sterling duty against our local squirrels; now it's been turned on the pigeons. To be honest, it hasn't yet been as effective as I'd hoped; with pigeons, one is dealing with a unique combination of doggedness and stupidity.

The scenario plays out like this: pigeon lands on lawn, only to be hit by a decent spray of water shot from our gun, my eye being well in, whereupon pigeon flies off in alarm. However, said pigeon flies only as far as the further corner of the roof, whence he waddles along to the corner nearest me, looks me up and down for a moment, then flies back down onto the lawn, only to be met with another burst from the gun. Back to the roof he flies, and the whole story is played out again . . . and again.

I think this could quite easily have gone on all night, had the pigeon not been unsettled by a noisy bevy of passing crows that bounced him into deciding to move on elsewhere. He'll be back tomorrow, I'm sure. This is a trial of patience and persistence, and I'm not at all sure which of us is going to win.