The Human Dove

It is not a new observation that, whilst mankind traditionally sees itself as being like an eagle, or a lion, or a wolf, it is fact, far more of a pigeon. No matter where you go in the world you see pigeons (probably). In the Mediterranean you even see them sitting down, enjoying their own pigeony version of a siesta.

The pigeon is adaptable, hardy and prolific. Like human beings. Eagles and lions, although being at the top of the food chain like humans, consistently fail the test when it comes to surviving, thriving and staying aliving. People are like pigeons. Just accept it. If we were honest, the 3 lions on our shirt would be pigeons; the symbol of America would be a pigeon (probably in a bandana, holding an assault rifle).

It is with this in mind that I have noticed a worrying trend in the village where I live. Whilst we have our share of collared doves and wood pigeons (this is not London, there are no homeless pigeons limping around with legs like Lord Byron) there is also a community of white doves. They live on a roof nearby and are a beautifully uplifting sight as they strut importantly around. They seem to me to represent first world humanity. They are fed adequately by a householder, they pay attention to their appearance, they are clearly sociable, they have few worries and their pompous cooing clearly demonstrates an obsession with their own gloriousness. The only thing they really lack are mobile phones. But there is a worrying dark side…

THEY ARE STUPID. That’s really the only way of putting it. They are constantly getting run over. All the time. They feed in the road and don’t hop out of the way of cars. It’s almost as though (for the purposes of stretching the analogy) they are relying a nanny state to look after them and don’t feel they have to take responsibility for their own actions. Or perhaps, if you prefer a different interpretation, they have been concentrating for generations on the purity of their white blood and now have diluted their gene pool to the point where their minds are defective.

Of course, it could be argued that the person feeding them is at least partially responsible. It does look as though he throws a couple of handfuls of grain into a busy road and then crouches, trousers round ankles, behind a net curtain waiting for them to be brutally squashed in order that he can satisfy whatever obscene desires he harbours. But I have no proof of this. It’s simply conjecture until I see him doing it.

So in conclusion, um, try not to get run over. Don’t put bird food in the road. That’s it I think.


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