A friend writes that when he was a schoolboy in Dublin - the days, he says, when one penny would buy 16 aniseed balls, and inflation was something you did with a bicycle pump - he used to catch pigeons in St Stephen's Green and sell them for sixpence to fellow schoolboys. Not for eating, but as pets. It was handy money, he said, but he was restricted by a superstition held by the mothers of some potential customers, that it was unlucky to bring a pigeon into a house.
This summer, not holding that or any other superstition, he declares, he allowed two favourite pigeons to walk into the kitchen, having already sat on the garden table awaiting crumbs from plates. He ringed both, but a few days later one did not turn up and a week later the other did not return either. By accident, he found out why. Fanciers regularly look at feeding pigeons to see if any are ringed. They think these must be racers and catch them for their lofts. He saw this happen in the Dun Laoghaire region.
Recently he watched pigeons picking up twigs in his garden and noticed how they lift a twig several times before flying off, so that it is held balanced in the middle. Wanting to find out how smart the birds are, he concealed a nail in one end of a twig to change its balance and left it out for collection. Several times a bird tried to pick it up in the middle, but was confused by its uneven weight, and looked for another. Same thing was done by another pigeon, writes our friend, they don't take risks in flight with unsafe cargoes.
He didn't know why they should be collecting twigs at this time of year. Could they make second nests?, he asks. He would like to know if anyone has the answer.
Other friends have bought peanuts and enjoyed, for a while feeding a pair of birds. They soon found they had a small flock of pigeons, roosting on a cross-branch just outside the kitchen window and discharging their droppings over precious herbs. And when the feeding stopped, they still came. Not very bright birds this lot, for they were encouraged to feed on the grass on the other side of the single-storey building. Nuts were put there every day. They didn't come. As they roosted on their familiar perch, nuts were ostentatiously, and often, thrown over the low roof to land on the lawn on the other side. A few of them copped on, but still they came to the back window. Eventually most got the message.
You can cope with one pigeon or two, but a dozen or so makes for hard work. And no one in this house likes aniseed balls. Y