I like watching the pigeons here in Moscow. And it's a good thing, because they are as ubiquitous around here as pictures of Lenin used to be.
I like watching pigeons walk around. It's like watching amateurs in a play. They walk, you know, pigeon-toed, which is why we don't call it "hummingbird-toed." They bob their heads when they walk, and change direction with no purpose. You wonder what they're looking at.
But you know what they're looking for. Bread crumbs. And there is seldom any shortage of these, because a lot of people in this city seem to share my liking for pigeons, even as they deride the poor birds with their familiar opprobrium: "Oh, they're just flying rats." How often have I heard that one? And it's a damned canard if you ask me. Rats give most people, including myself, the creeps. They run fast and they're sneaky. They hide. They surprise you with their sudden presence, appearing out of nowhere and then dashing back into hiding.
You have to admit that pigeons are not sneaky. Quite the contrary. They're as bold as brass. Most birds are skittish and fly away at the approach of humans or other animals. Pigeons just keep on walking around right in front of you, as if to say, "This is MY sidewalk. I'll let you use it for now, but don't get any ideas." Rats? In that respect they're more like cats.
And this is surely because, while pigeons are not rats, they are bums. Shameless. They know which side their breadcrumbs are buttered on. People toss breadcrumbs to the pigeons all the time, and the pigeons expect it. We have real bread here, you know, the kind that doesn't have a shelf-life of 3.4 years. The local bread runs the gamut from freshly-baked white to my favorite, the dark brown Ukrainian stuff that's so solid, if you threw a loaf of it at somebody you might hurt them. Very tough to get a knife through, but it's worth the effort. Once you manage to get a slice of this stuff, then you moosh a little smoked fish on it with a fork, or maybe some pate and a couple of pickled mushrooms, and believe me, that's eatin'.
But because most of the bread here isn't loaded with preservatives, it gets stale quickly, which is good for the pigeons because once bread gets stale people don't usually want to eat it. So they feed it to the pigeons. Pigeons aren't choosy. I have seen them snacking on sidewalk bread crusts and then washing the meal down with water from a nearby rain puddle.
Pigeons are remarkably democratic, by which I mean they're not snobs when it comes to choosing what they'll shit on. Statues, sidewalks, cars, you...they don't care. A couple of Sundays ago I was strolling through an extremely high-end shopping mall down near the city center. Parked in front of one of the tony shops there was a bright red Ferrari. Ferraris can be seen here, usually bright red and sometimes tearing along the streets down near the Moscow River as if the rich guy at the wheel were trying qualify for the Grand Prix of Monaco. Actually, the rich guy at the wheel is unconcerned about the consequences of speeding along in his red Ferrari, because the rich guys here are SO rich that if they get nailed for speeding, the few thousand rubles' fine is chump change to them. They just pay the cop and drive on.
Anyway, you can probably guess what's coming. I paused to inspect this awesome piece of machinery; I seldom get that close to a red Ferrari -- I just watch them whoosh past. It was a thing of beauty all right...except for the dab of pigeon shit on the passenger-side door.
You also occasionally see Lamborghinis here, as well as Bentleys, Rolls-Royces and whatnot. Beemers and Mercedes (Mercedeses?) are so common they aren't worth mentioning. The "prestige" vehicle in Moscow, twenty years ago when I first arrived here, was the Jeep Cherokee. I haven't asked if those vehicles still maintain anything of their old cache, but I am certain of this: the pigeons don't care.
There is another kid of bird here in Moscow of which I'm much less fond. I suspect these birds are a species of crow, and they are obnoxious. They're gray, not black as you might think of crows, and they're larger than most crows, although this last may be merely an illusion based on their obnoxiousness. When I was here in the 1990s we called them "Mili birds," and no, I don't know where they got that appelation.
These crows -- mili birds, if you will -- have a peculiarly loud, abrasive CAW that they tend to enjoy exercising usually when you're trying to sleep. You know, like at dawn. They haunt the parks; I would imagine that many a weekend tryst in the park by young muscovite lovers has been marred by the squawks of these aerial pests.
And the thing about mili birds is, they're year-round. Just as the pigeons are indiscriminate regarding where they defecate, these crows are impervious to the Russian winter. They do not fly south when it turns cold. They hang around and go right on squawking. All winter long. We used to get so exasperated with these damn birds that we'd talk about getting a shotgun and doing a few of them in just to make them shut up. It wouldn't have worked, of course; their surviving lodge brothers would merely caw all the louder. During a discussion of these disagreeable birds, a colleague of mine made a disgusting comment about "mili bird pie."
Yeah, right. In other words, eating crow. And they'd be just the ones to make you do it, too. But not me. I'll just get up and close the window (cursing, probably.) As long as there's plenty of that good Ukrainian brown bread around town, I don't plan to get that hungry. You can bet the pigeons don't either.
 |
| ...It's their town.. |
But you know what they're looking for. Bread crumbs. And there is seldom any shortage of these, because a lot of people in this city seem to share my liking for pigeons, even as they deride the poor birds with their familiar opprobrium: "Oh, they're just flying rats." How often have I heard that one? And it's a damned canard if you ask me. Rats give most people, including myself, the creeps. They run fast and they're sneaky. They hide. They surprise you with their sudden presence, appearing out of nowhere and then dashing back into hiding.
You have to admit that pigeons are not sneaky. Quite the contrary. They're as bold as brass. Most birds are skittish and fly away at the approach of humans or other animals. Pigeons just keep on walking around right in front of you, as if to say, "This is MY sidewalk. I'll let you use it for now, but don't get any ideas." Rats? In that respect they're more like cats.
And this is surely because, while pigeons are not rats, they are bums. Shameless. They know which side their breadcrumbs are buttered on. People toss breadcrumbs to the pigeons all the time, and the pigeons expect it. We have real bread here, you know, the kind that doesn't have a shelf-life of 3.4 years. The local bread runs the gamut from freshly-baked white to my favorite, the dark brown Ukrainian stuff that's so solid, if you threw a loaf of it at somebody you might hurt them. Very tough to get a knife through, but it's worth the effort. Once you manage to get a slice of this stuff, then you moosh a little smoked fish on it with a fork, or maybe some pate and a couple of pickled mushrooms, and believe me, that's eatin'.
But because most of the bread here isn't loaded with preservatives, it gets stale quickly, which is good for the pigeons because once bread gets stale people don't usually want to eat it. So they feed it to the pigeons. Pigeons aren't choosy. I have seen them snacking on sidewalk bread crusts and then washing the meal down with water from a nearby rain puddle.
Pigeons are remarkably democratic, by which I mean they're not snobs when it comes to choosing what they'll shit on. Statues, sidewalks, cars, you...they don't care. A couple of Sundays ago I was strolling through an extremely high-end shopping mall down near the city center. Parked in front of one of the tony shops there was a bright red Ferrari. Ferraris can be seen here, usually bright red and sometimes tearing along the streets down near the Moscow River as if the rich guy at the wheel were trying qualify for the Grand Prix of Monaco. Actually, the rich guy at the wheel is unconcerned about the consequences of speeding along in his red Ferrari, because the rich guys here are SO rich that if they get nailed for speeding, the few thousand rubles' fine is chump change to them. They just pay the cop and drive on.
Anyway, you can probably guess what's coming. I paused to inspect this awesome piece of machinery; I seldom get that close to a red Ferrari -- I just watch them whoosh past. It was a thing of beauty all right...except for the dab of pigeon shit on the passenger-side door.
You also occasionally see Lamborghinis here, as well as Bentleys, Rolls-Royces and whatnot. Beemers and Mercedes (Mercedeses?) are so common they aren't worth mentioning. The "prestige" vehicle in Moscow, twenty years ago when I first arrived here, was the Jeep Cherokee. I haven't asked if those vehicles still maintain anything of their old cache, but I am certain of this: the pigeons don't care.
There is another kid of bird here in Moscow of which I'm much less fond. I suspect these birds are a species of crow, and they are obnoxious. They're gray, not black as you might think of crows, and they're larger than most crows, although this last may be merely an illusion based on their obnoxiousness. When I was here in the 1990s we called them "Mili birds," and no, I don't know where they got that appelation.
 |
| These guys, on the other hand, are just garden-variety pests. |
And the thing about mili birds is, they're year-round. Just as the pigeons are indiscriminate regarding where they defecate, these crows are impervious to the Russian winter. They do not fly south when it turns cold. They hang around and go right on squawking. All winter long. We used to get so exasperated with these damn birds that we'd talk about getting a shotgun and doing a few of them in just to make them shut up. It wouldn't have worked, of course; their surviving lodge brothers would merely caw all the louder. During a discussion of these disagreeable birds, a colleague of mine made a disgusting comment about "mili bird pie."
Yeah, right. In other words, eating crow. And they'd be just the ones to make you do it, too. But not me. I'll just get up and close the window (cursing, probably.) As long as there's plenty of that good Ukrainian brown bread around town, I don't plan to get that hungry. You can bet the pigeons don't either.
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