Continuing the chronicling of events of great non-excitement.
Took my lunch to the hobo park as is my usual Spring-Summer custom.
Usually the most troublesome thing in the park are the gang of park drunks.
Last time one was making herself throw up behind a tree. A work colleague unfortunately was facing towards her at the time. (Really put him off his lunch, poor chap)
This time it was a pigeon.
Not just any old pigeon, but some strange, un-shooable pigeon.
Staunchly unshooable even when I was doing my most threatening waving with my book and hissing “SHOO” loudly, all it did was flap off about a foot away and then slowly but surely resume its languid but determined spiral path around me.
Closer and closer and closer….
It felt rather like being in a Jaws film.
(Minus the boat, or the water, or the shark.)
Eyeballing me the whole time with its un-shooable pigeon glare.
There were a couple of other pigeons near by, a little jing of pigeon pals. All scrounging around the park for food (or hobo vomit) and while observing both the jing pigeons and the un-shooable pigeon I noticed some unnerving differences between the two.
1. It was larger and fatter than the other pigeons. Could this be a sign or a new dominant species? A pigeon with more might than any other pigeon ever before?
2. It was significantly un-shooable. The average polite pigeon will, if shooed, generally keep its distance. This pigeon was a total stranger to the concept of personal space.
3. It was eyeballing me in a distinctly fixed way. I didn’t like its glare one bit. There seemed to be something more than just a bird brain behind this pigeon.
4. Its eyes were a different colour. All the other pigeons had brown eyes. This ones were white (White!) with small black pupils right in the center. Looking into those black pupils was like looking into a deep chasm of hatred. I felt it distinctly.
Say what you will but there is something most disconcerting about being slowly circled by a malevolent pigeon with strange glaring eyes.
I did what any sensible person would do in a imminent mutant pigeon attack crisis
I called Leo.
I explained the precariousness of the situation. I explained about the eyes. The shooing even. I mentioned it was a pigeon.
He was, unsurprisingly, was largely unhelpful but suggested that perhaps I should try moving.
So I picked up my lunch, my soggy newspaper (which I was sitting on) my bag, my drink, my fags, my book and heaved myself off to the further end of the park and sat down, thankfully, set to enjoy the rest of my lunch in peace and quiet.
I look up 5 mins later and the same mutant pigeon is there eyeballing me again.
Naturally, I called Leo again.
For some reason the pigeon took the hint (perhaps I glared back at it) and it sauntered off into the bushes, looking shady as it did so. You might say it was almost trying to whistle nonchalantly, as you would while conducting dubious business.
Happily it did not return.
Was it because I finished my lunch?
Was it because it knew I knew and its cover had been busted?
We’ll just never know.