|He's staring at me, isn't he?|
They were surprisingly resistant to all hints. I thought it might have been because I was shouting in English, so I switched to German: "Haut ab! Weg mit euch! Blöde Tauben!'" But that didn't work either.
And no wonder. The first rule of real estate is: Location, location, location, and in pigeon terms, there's no better location than in a disused flower holder beside our balcony door. Mama Pigeon has built herself a nest, laid eggs and spends her day in there, glaring malevolently when Mr Gingerbread and I turn up for a staring match.
|Can you detect the malice in her eyes?|
See, that's just about all we're capable of doing right now. The Brothers Gingerbread had a selection of Pigeon Eviction Strategies, but many of them involved scenes of mild cruelty to the
So all I can do is visit our little squatters on a regular basis and talk to the mother pigeon to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible. ("Yes, I can see you. No, staying stock-still doesn't make you invisible. I'm here to tell you that I am not happy about this AT ALL. I don't appreciate you or Mr Pigeon pooping all over our balcony and I'm not sure I want a flock of baby pigeons doing their business on our garden furniture, either.") She unflinchingly stares me down, the wench. I'm being intimidated by a bird.
This might seem cruel, but this weekend Mr G and his DIY Partner In Crime are laying decking on our balcony ...
|The result of Mr Gingerbread's trip to Man Nirvana: The DIY Store!|