Pigeon Wars

Sometime during this summer, we put feeders out for the birds. Unbeknownst to us, the seeds we chose were delicacies for pigeons. Not too soon after, a little family of the birds made a nest on our roof.

Not our nest…ours was much more messy

I thought this was lovely news but my lovely hubby was concerned. Turns out, pigeon droppings have toxic chemicals in them that, if ingested, could kill dogs. Hubby didn’t want his baby hurt. When the pigeons stayed after their babies had left the nest, he realized these guys were settling in for the winter and set out to change things. The pigeons, he decided, had to go.

The only issue was that our new feathery visitors were quite happy with their new home. They had chosen a spot between two dormers that is sheltered from the rain and wind. They had constant food below and a beautiful view of lovely old trees to admire. They weren’t going anywhere.

Round 1 consisted of my hubby trying out banging pots and pans near the roof. It made our neighbours come out and stare but the pigeons didn’t even budge.

Having accomplished nothing with the banging but to look ridiculous, Hubby decided to bring out the heavy guns and bought a wind chimer. Apparently, the soothing sounds of wind chimes are incredibly irritating to pigeon ears and they fly away. Delighted with his cunning, Hubby installed the biggest wind chime he could find. Right under their nest.

The wind came and the chimes rang. And rang, and rang. And nothing happened anywhere in the neighbourhood. Day after day, Hubby peered up into the roof to find our unwanted guests snuggled together, as happy as could be.

Round 3 -Hubby decided to involve technology. He bought a machine that made a sound humans ears cannot detect but apparently scares birds. The contraption was massive, it took him an entire day to hook it up on our balcony and get it going but he did and he turned it on with delight.

Of course, we couldn’t hear anything but Ocean did. She started howling at the moon, the sun and pretty much every celestial object in the sky. I had a headache spring up every time I stepped in the house but, otherwise, nothing else seemed to change. Certainly not the pigeons, who were still snuggled together on our roof.

Round 4 – Hubby bought a plastic ball that lit up when thrown and stretched out his throwing arm. The idea was that he’d throw the ball close enough to the annoying birds that they would leave and never return. The problem with this plan was that my hubby has many talents but accuracy is not one of them. The ball landed on the neighbours’ yards, the street, our deck, our backyard but it didn’t come even close to the pigeons.

Seeing the crazed look in my husband’s eyes, even I took a turn at throwing the ball. I got pretty close. The birds did fly away…and returned as soon as the ball fell back to earth.

I like my home

By this point in the war, it was winter. Every morning, on my way to work, I would look up as I left and see the two fluffy pigeons in their nook. Clearly winners of the war, they were not moving. I suggested to my hubby making them another home in our yard, one that would tempt them away from the roof, but my idea wasn’t a winner. If they stayed, so would their droppings and that would still endanger Ocean.

Hubby started asking for help. He discovered that a lot of people have had unwanted feathery guests stay with them for a while and that it is really hard to discourage such guests. Everyone had advice but it went from the shocking to the ridiculous; someone suggested getting a pet eagle, another wanted him to build an electric fence on our roof…the most consistent one was to shoot them. But my hubby is a gentle man and he didn’t want to hurt the birds.

Then, finally someone came up with the idea that he liked.

He was told that if he got an owl, a fake, plastic one, and installed it near the pigeons, it would scare away them away. Owls are natural predators of pigeons, the person explained, they’ll be terrified of the thing.

My hubby went out and found a massive, plastic owl that terrified everyone, even him. Before the day was out, the thing was hanging from the roof right next to the pigeon home. And, sure enough, the pigeons were gone.

He was ecstatic. “He was right,” Hubby grinned. “It terrifies them. They’ll never come back.”

Is it a house or a home?

They say it takes a year for a house to become a home. I had never heard that before we moved to our present house but it certainly didn’t feel like home when we walked in. As time passed and I walked around the place expecting the old owners to come in and kick us out, I wondered just how true that saying was.

Our previous house was a tiny, cozy thing, just right for two people. By contrast, this house is big and poky, with doors, hallways and stairs everywhere. When I first saw it, I thought it’d be the perfect house for witches to live in–if they used a gas fireplace and needed air conditioning.

It’s been a year and things have changed. This is where Ocean got really sick and we almost lost her. It’s where the fence failed and our dogs got to run freely down the neighbourhood. It’s where my hubby built a dog castle.

We’ve made some memories here.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s starting to feel like home.

A new house

Our new house has tons of poky corners.

It has odd new windows and a gas fireplace.

This house is definitely a ‘she’. She’s got personality galore and she’s pretty in the way only female energy can be. We’ve cleaned most of her by now, so we’re starting to get to know her.

She’s still mostly a mystery. There are still light switches whose role is a puzzle, locks that defiantly remain open and sounds that make us wonder what she’s trying to tell us. But we’re getting to know each other.

Soon, she’ll be home.

It’s so good to be home!

I’m such a home body. It’s something that’s never been as clear to me as during this one day away from home. I missed my home terribly. I missed my dogs, my hubby and the lovely conveniences of having TV, internet and a phone.

This retreat was like entering a different time period. The entire building was massive, set in a place among 150 acres of forest with lakes and trails that were beautiful if you’re a squirrel and want to leg it.

The place was as quiet as a tomb and incredibly laberinth-like. There were stairs and twisted corridors everywhere. No matter which you took, it turned and ended up in a different area of the building. I got lost more times than I can count.

The rooms were microscopic…and filled with dead flies. The staff was just as minuscule consisting only of about 4 people. They did everything from cooking to welcoming us to telling us the rules of the place. No outside shoes. Everyone had to go around in slippers.

The food was great…except for the coffee cups. They were the size of thimbles and I just about had it. In an act of unparalleled rebellion, I seized one of their cereal bowls and used it for coffee. People stared…but I couldn’t have cared less. In the mornings, I need coffee.

We did a lot of ‘circles’ where we sat and listened to our ‘leaders’ tell us how to work better. I tried to be a good listener and appreciate what they were saying but it was hard and, with each passing hour, it got harder. By the second day, I wasn’t the only one dissociating. I counted 7 heads nodding while the last speaker rambled on.

The group leader only had to say that it was time to go before I was gone. I was the first out of the building and the first car out of the lot. I came home relishing loud music on the radio, shouting it out as I drove.

My doggies were thrilled to see me and my hubby even had flowers waiting.

It’s so nice to be home!

What have I missed? What are you guys up to?

 

A little gratitude…a whole new perspective

I was at a homeless shelter not that long ago.

Since I’d never been to one before, I had little go on. As usual, the only references I had came from books. In my uninformed, little mind, I figured it had to be better than Charles Dickens’ Oliver Twist but would probably be worse than L. M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables.

The first shelter was for youth. As in teens. Now, teens can be a handful but this place was bad. Really bad. And, no matter how rude teens can be, they’re also kids.

Forget the graffiti on the walls and the locks on the fridges, it smelled. There were signs posted up for what to do if you had bedbugs and/or head lice and I immediately started to feel itchy. The bedrooms were tiny with lockers crammed inside and bunk beds lining the walls. I counted six before I stopped and left the room. I didn’t see a window. The mattresses were the thickness of gym pads and covered in plastic for easy cleaning. So were the pillows. I was glad we didn’t see their washrooms.

I felt immediately sad. And claustrophobic.

Our tour went on to the Salvation army. Another type of shelter, this time for adults. There we went through the kitchen and onto the living area where we saw another typical bedroom. More signs for bedbugs and lice, more plastic-covered mattresses and pillows. We helped out with lunch. Those who came to eat weren’t scary or crazy, they were average people who had been hit by hard times. They talked to us and told us their stories. They were hoping to get jobs and to reconnect with their families. Some were in transition, going to another province because there was work there. Others were trying to find work here, closer to their loved ones.

They must have seen something in my face, because they started saying jokes and trying to cheer me up. When I saw that they were trying to take care of me, I had to turn away or I’d cry.

I left not caring one iota if my book was number one in Amazon or last on the list. I forgot all about that reno I wanted done in the house and about the winter tires the car needed. I got home and kissed my husband, took the dogs for long walk and told them how wonderful they were (as they drooled around me in delight). Then, I sat at home, stared at our trees and felt so grateful I could have cried again.

I am so grateful that I have a job. That I have a home. That I’m sober. That I have my health. The rest is gravy. I need to remember that.

(credit:lindsaysalvationarmy.ca)

Will one of you kick me if I forget? Really. No? How about a shake? Next time I whine about something, just give me a little shake.

I really needed to see those shelters.