So today nearly became “pigeon in the house day”. It was only avoided because the pigeon made a noise – which, in all honesty, sounded like a sneeze – which alerted me to its presence which, in turn, scared it away.
Not that this pigeon is particularly fearful, as it and Peppa both just sat chilling in the garden earlier with no regard for the hunter-huntee relationship which should exist between them.
I have, for lack of anywhere else to hang it at the moment, put one of the bird feeders on a hanging basket hook directly outside the back door. It is, it would appear, quite popular as it empties almost as quickly as I can fill it. I assume it is birds, but the glass in the back door is patterned so you can’t really see anything more than a blur. For all I know it’s a pack of squirrels just going to town on it all.
Either way – bird or squirrel – there are elements of the seed mix that they don’t like. And, like a badly brought up child, they just spit them out all over the place. Or, more correctly, the back doorstep.
But, pigeons being nature’s waste disposal – a flying goat, if you will – they will eat anything. Which includes the large quantity of corn that has been spat out of tiny beaks. Which is all well and good. But when you, as a home owner, have the back door open to let a bit of air into the house – as I often do – it does offer an easy entrance for any sort of winged creature that we are now luring to the door with offers of food.
Not, of course, that this house is a stranger to being visited by feathered creatures. Few can forget the terrifying ordeal of just sitting playing on the Xbox when a blackbird flew in front of me and directly into the living room window. The bird in question, having been brought in by Peppa was then recaptured by our feline pal and taken on a tour of the house – including a little bit of free time in the bedroom – before being taken back to the open back door and let free (whether intentional or accidental is up for debate).
And, of course, the house is no stranger to animals just meandering in when the door is open. Who can forget the time a ginger cat came into the house at some point unbeknownst to us and made itself at home somewhere (we still have no idea where) for, potentially, hours before just strolling casually through the front room and upstairs where it met Peppa. All the while, Carole and myself just stared at each other as though seeking confirmation that what we had seen happen had happened. The cat fight and mad scramble out of the cat flap sort of proved it, I suppose. It’s probably the closest we’ve come to “winning” another cat – after all, if it’s in our house it’s ours, right?
I’m not sure it’ll be so cute if I accidentally let the pigeon in…