The One with the Pigeon

There’s a pigeon by the car. It’s big. A Wood Pigeon I strongly suspect, although I haven’t asked it. Mostly because it’s dead.

I’m not one of those people who object to pigeons per se. Indeed I believe that they are fine upstanding members of the bird community. Their gentle cooing can get a tad annoying if directly outside an open window on a day with a hangover, but nevertheless, pigeons are ok.

Should the aforementioned pigeon have been a bit more alive I would have greeted it with a cheery ‘Greetings pigeon!!!!!!!’. Maybe or maybe not with that number of exclamation marks. It was neither mine nor the pigeon’s fault that in fact I greeted it with a resounding ergggggggg and a slight shiver followed by a meandering feeling of nausea.

I have a bit of a difficulty with dead things. It is perhaps inexplicable or possibly rooted in a deep psychological problem that stemmed from an incident in my childhood that I have erased from my memory (a wise move).

My attempts to erase the pigeon from my memory have so far failed. One might not think that one dead and silent pigeon would be a major obstacle to my day. One might think very wrongly.

It is by the car. Dead. On it’s back. Probably to illustrate just how very dead it is. I therefore cannot get into the car. It is causing an obstruction.

‘Why the hell don’t you just move the sodding pigeon?’ I hear you ask. Although you may not have sworn.

I have a bit of a problem with dead things.

Even small dead things are not good. From woodlice up I start to be quite irrational. Mammals are the worst but birds come a short second. It is very lucky that I have never had to move a human corpse. Even the sight (previous) of the Beloved (previous) asleep could be quite disturbing. Thus at least the world can be assured that it is unlikely that I would murder anyone as the impossibility of moving the body, tying concrete triangles to their feet and throwing them into Hudson Bay is, essentially, an overwhelming obstacle. When the detectives begin their in-depth investigation re the murderer of whoever the first person they always eliminate is me. Because of this obstacle.

Like the pigeon.

I can’t get in the car. So I can’t go to the Coop to get milk. Or bread. We are going to starve to death. Thirst to death.

But I am not a woman without initiative. I have a plan. I will text the Beloved ‘Help! Dead pigeon!!!’ Using exactly that number of exclamation marks. He will leap out of the arms of his new Beloved and rescue me. Or I will starve to death and he will have to move my body, tie concrete triangles to my feet and throw me into Hudson Bay. But prior to that he will have to move the pigeon. In order to get to the car. So, either way, I win.