New Addition

We have a new addition to the Dingo family.  No, not that type of addition.  For the love of Todd, people!  Don’t you think I would’ve said something if Mr. Dingo and I were expecting?  Something like, “Save Me!” or “For Christ Sake, How Did This Happen?!” No, our new addition is of the feathered variety.  I’m just going to lay it all out there.  It’s a pigeon.  Now before you get your panties in a bunch and revoke my New York City citizenship, let me explain. 

Like all TRUE New Yorkers, I hate pigeons.  But this pigeon, well, he’s special.  You see, being a runt, his mama kicked him to the curb, which in this case, means our terrace. And there he sat looking up at the nest where his Mama and his fat fuck of a brother sat eating and lounging in pigeon luxury as he cried out, “Cheep, cheep, cheep!  Mama, I’m hungry!” and “Cheep, cheep, cheep, Mama, I’m scared!” It tore my heart out how excited he would get when his Mama would come out of her pigeon penthouse (the abandoned air conditioner unit from the apartment upstairs) only to have her ignore him and even chase him away.  I am tearing up thinking about it right now.  And so, I decided to feed him.  At least give him a chance to grow up to be the ugly, disease-infested vermin he was meant to be.

I refused to name him until I was sure he would live.  Having a dead baby pigeon on our terrace would be bad enough, having a dead baby pigeon that I named and anthropomorphized would be worse. 

Don’t ask me how Mr. Dingo got him to eat.  It was a Christmas miracle fluke.  It took a while but once he realized that the crumbs Mr. Dingo and I spread before him like a sumptuous buffet at The Luxor was food, he began to eat with relish.  In fact, if Mr. Dingo and I are a late with his breakfast or dinner, he bangs on the terrace door with his wings until we come out.  So, he’s going to live and I decided to name him.  Innernetz, I’d like to introduce you to McJagger.

Dingo Girl has learned that she is to chase all pigeons except for McJagger off the terrace.  McJagger has no fear of Dingo Girl or of me and Mr. Dingo.  He often hops onto our laps to make sure we really are out of bread and not just putting one over on him and he’ll dart toward a piece of bread to get to it before Dingo Girl does.  And Not a Dingo?  McJagger is not afraid of her either – bravado or stupidity, I’m not sure.  Mr. Dingo and I make sure we leave the terrace door cracked open enough to give her a peek at her foster brother but not enough so that she can pounce.  And pounce she would.  She eyeballs him through the door and licks her lips.

McJagger’s next obstacle is learning how to fly.  He doesn’t fly.  He flops.  He executes leaps worthy of Michael Jordan (without the grace and style) before landing in a hail of feathers and fluff.  But he doesn’t fly.  He crashes into walls.  He falls off the banister.  He hops around the terrace like one of those wind-up chicks and Easter eggs that are popular every Spring.  Mr. Dingo has pulled off the miracle of teaching McJagger to eat.  I’m waiting to see how he teaches our newest addition how to fly.

I started this post with the intention of writing about my encounter with the hostile Pigeon Lady that menaces the neighborhood and ended up introducing you to our newest family member.  I’ll write about Pigeon Lady another day – if I’m not arrested for grinding her bones to meal and feeding them to her feathered legions first.

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