My backyard is not what you'd call an ecological paradise. First off, we've got fake grass--the kind that looks exactly like the real thing but doesn't grow, doesn't smell and always looks green, green, green. My six schnauzers know it's fake, but they sniff up a storm on it anyway because birds seem to congregate there to munch on seeds and other bird food stuff falling from large nearby trees. And I'm glad the doves, pigeons, and occasional hummingbird or quail still pursue their vegan diet in my yard. I enjoy watching them from my kitchen window that gives me a panoramic view of their birdy behaviors. I'm not keen about the poop they leave behind, but, as they say in Brooklyn, and Woody Allen seconds, pigeons are nothing less than rats with wings.
Well, I wouldn't go that far, especially after what happened to me and my menagerie the other day.This is how everything unfolded. The dogs exited into the yard from two doors--a standard wooden kitchen model and a sliding one in the den. They usually don't waste time seeing if I've also made it onto the patio safe and sound.They're a me-me-me bunch, typical of current generations of both pets and people. They usually go about their business immediately, whether it's pooping, standing around aimlessly, urinating or eating the small pebbles we stupidly added to the flower beds.
Two days ago they abandoned the usual and within seconds, ripped off their "goofy" masks and donned their "hunter" ones--that is to say, they nailed a bird that was not in what I commonly refer to as the safety zone. The safety zone is that area of the backyard surrounded by a metal fence around a small in-ground play pool. When I say safety zone I mean safe for birds, rabbits, and any other small animals, geckos, insects or--god forbid--snakes.
It seemed that one not-so-bright adult pigeon had situated himself in one of the flower beds in the NON-SAFETY ZONE, and oddly enough, did not take off in flight when my schnauzers homed in on him. He fluttered about one or two feet above the heads of the dogs, but seemed to be physically challenged. There was lots of flapping but little lift, as they say in aeronautical circles. From a distance I figured that eventually he would muster enough fire power to at least make it to the top of the five-foot stucco fence surrounding the yard. But no, this bird was not going to fly the coop, and the schnauzers knew it. Faster than a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive, the super schnauzers began attacking "Pidg." Unfortunately I was stunned for a few seconds too long. The adult dogs were not as pro-active as the younger ones, who looked like they were batting the poor bird back and forth. Meanwhile I stood still with my mouth agape.
This was a first for me. My lab with his soft mouth had always released a wayward bird when I said the magic words, "Drop it," but that phrase wasn't working now. "Drop it, drop it, drop it," I said to Captain, my salt and pepper schnauzer with the uncropped ears. Somehow he had stolen the pigeon away from his brothers and was now racing around the yard, flaunting his prize. He was pursued by his brothers and his now exhausted, out-of-shape owner. After about five or so laps around the yard, I realized Captain was not going to suddenly become obedient and drop the poor bird at my feet. Our communication went this way:
Me: Drop it, Captain.
Captain (if he could talk): No way, Jose. The other dogs think I'm a wuss, but now they know my prey-predator instinct is alive and well and I could whup them with one paw behind my back if I had to.
Me: Drop it, Captain (in a panicky voice, giving way to huffs and puffs)
Captain: Best day of my life!! But I don't know what the fuck to do with this winged rat? I sure as hell don't want to eat it--yech! Maybe Mom will finally get smart and do something to help me out.
I "heard" Captain's pleas for an easy solution, so I came up with a plan: First, I'd lure the other schnauzers into the house with the promise of "treats. Then I'd deal with Captain and the bird.
Actually my plan proved to be a sound one. Once the 5 schnauzers were in the house, Captain had no one left to impress, so he softly dropped the bird on the patio. I never liked touching birds, especially ones that could be dead, so that was somewhat problematic. But I managed to slide the pigeon onto the pooper scooper and deposit him gently on the other side of the pool fence in the safety zone. I tried to hide him in some dense foliage and topped off my humane act with a small dish of water. He was breathing and trying to walk when I saw him next, but I've been too much of a coward to follow up on his progress.
Wnile to the schnauzers, this was just another incident to break up the boring monotony of day to day life in the desert, I viewed it as a test of my humanity. I tortured myself with questions: Should I bring Pidg to Wild Bird, a humane group ten miles north of Scottsdale, or should I let nature take its course. I chose the coward's way, and like the brave person I am not, I haven't searched for Pidg to see if he is still in this world. I hope so.
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