‘But then again, I’m not a pigeon’

Mom was never tolerant of any invasive species. Flies, in particular, brought out the killer in her! She was always prepared for their unheralded arrival. She had an ample collection of plastic fly swatters, and the most gross ammunition, flypaper, hanging circular long strips of sticky tape attached to a high point in a room, deliciously enticing and inviting to flies. The flies would continue to impale themselves on it, undeterred by the visible abundant corpses of their fellow travelers already glued on.

I haven’t seen flypaper in a long time, although it was always a staple in Parksville’s summer Jewish community. Were we Jews particularly intolerant or germophobic? I cannot say, but to see these shrinking insect bodies hanging lifelessly near our food was definitely unappetizing. A few weeks ago we spent an overnight at a Maryland Jewish retreat center, where our bedroom was home to several flies who insisted on making us aware of their presence pretty consistently and most annoyingly. Knowing we wouldn’t be able to sleep with the unwanted roommates we went to the front desk and asked if they had any fly swatters. They provided us with the more contemporary solution to the problem, a zapper. As long as the fly stopped long enough to be zapped it worked well. However, alas, any fly worth his mettle could see the danger inherent in the device and just fly away, faster than we with our zapper could show our power. Hence, modernity didn’t win and we didn’t sleep.

Now, in the earliest days of autumn, a fly has sought sanctuary right here in our home in West Orange. One casual door opening allowed him unfettered access to all the cooking and baking that our holidays encourage, and he’s found his nirvana. He has been our totally uninvited invader, and we’ve tried all our tricks to get him to move out, dead or alive. So far, as I report in complete honesty, the fly vs. the humans shows the fly ahead, even though we surpass him in experience and education. He’s got speed on his side. Every item of food is completely covered, and there’s no water puddling or pouring from any source. Yet he still lives and does what he was destined to do. He flies!

Eventually one of us will win, or lose, this battle. But, in wonderment, I puzzle what his existence can possibly be based upon. Can a trifling little insect survive with no food or water, and certainly no love or hospitality? I simply don’t know.

We’ve had other encounters with pests. Can we talk about pigeons, again? I was taught a healthy respect for pigeons, known as ring doves, from Dr. Daniel S. Lehrman, a prominent comparative psychologist and my favorite professor at Rutgers Newark. Undoubtedly we all know how these clever creatures were used as messengers during wartime throughout many centuries. Their homing instincts allowed them to deliver urgent messages, unfettered, before they were ultimately replaced by electronics. Dr. Lehrman stayed at our school because the former Ballantine beer factory where our classes were held gave him complete access to a roof where he continued his research until his untimely death at age 53. I assumed, in those days, that I would always have great tolerance towards the pigeons in my life.

That was not true.

Pigeons are monogamous, I learned. When they fall in love, it is forever. And I sometimes gaze on the home behind ours where a pair of them share their emotions, and their physical attraction, and from a distance, I admire their tenacity. Living life on a rooftop cannot be easy, I surmise. At least, not for me. But, then again, I’m not a pigeon.

Pigeons are also faithful to their homes. Trying to get pigeons to relocate is nigh impossible. No matter how many obstacles you place before them, they’ll be back. Trust me, I’m experienced in this. And nowhere I’ve ever been epitomizes this more than our own homeland, Israel.

We lived in our pied a terre in Herzliya for 22 years. During all those years we did battle with pigeons. In the end the resolution was a tie, but it cost us a lot of labor and money to pursue the remediation. Yet, it was necessary. Even imperative.

From our very first stay in the new place we knew we had a problem. On arrival from the States, we saw that our laundry merpesit, with its shiny pair of brand-new appliances, and open to the outside air wall, was covered in two months’ worth of pigeon dung. I’m not exaggerating. Every surface was blanketed, and the stuff was baked on, like a foul crust. Tired from the journey, still we simply couldn’t go straight to bed. We had to spend hours cleaning until overwhelming exhaustion forced us to stop the unfinished job. We resumed work in the morning. So much for enjoying a leisurely breakfast al fresco on our beautiful unscathed living room merpesit with its magnificent view.

Once the cleanup was finished, we realized we had to solve the basic problem. Since the pigeons had easy access to the laundry and could fly in and out easily, we would have to eliminate their ability to invade our space. My husband is not an engineer for nothing. He strategized and plotted and figured it out. He would screen in the entire space, allowing air to flow while not allowing pigeons to fly in. It was a lot of work, but it kept the creatures out and we thought we had solved the problem, for now, and then, and forever.

Foiled again!

For all the remaining years in that delightful, perfect apartment, we did battle with Dr. Lehrman’s favorite animals. I’m not going to regale you with all our strategies and mini-wars, but suffice it to say, when we finally moved on, the pigeons were still there, having earned our respect, but never affection or tolerance. We used glue and spikes and statues supposedly terrifying to pigeons, owls, and falcons. Each provided a mere temporary respite. We never could claim to be the victors. We sometimes had a mere ceasefire. Never more! Nonetheless, we remain undeterred Zionists, sharing our dreams and aspirations with the critters.

The truth is that when a pigeon is at home, it’s his, not yours, no matter what the deed or lease says. I think the same may be true of flies.

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of 12. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com

Opinion