Donnette

As I dusted the ceiling of #202 with my long feather duster in preparation for painting, I kept hearing a soft whirring sound like a small electric drill a jeweler or dentist would use. It came on for a couple of seconds and then went off. It seemed to be coming from below.

Well, I thought, that made sense. The tenant below was some kind of inventor so he was probably working on a project.

But it wasnt really coming from below. I followed the soft on again off again whirring sound out onto the apartments balcony. The whirring got louder then stopped. I heard rustling from above. As I approached the sound two gray pigeons suddenly burst out from under a space between the aluminum porch overhang and the main wood roof. They flew over to the peak of an adjoining building and watched me.

Wow, I thought, nesting pigeons, weve never had those before.

Later, a tenant told me, Youve got to kill them. Theyll keep coming back year after year. Theyll never go away.

Another tenant said, Theyre like flying rats, and they carry mites. You gotta get rid of them.

A prospective tenant visited the apartment. When she stepped out onto the porch the pigeons panicked and flew away scaring her.

Those are dirty things, she yelped, and never came back.

The pigeons had to go. They were building a nest, but hadnt laid any eggs yet. As I pondered the problem one of them stood on the peak of the adjoining buildings roof, a long twig in his beak, impatiently waiting for me to get lost.

I have nothing against pigeons. I thought it was kind of cool they were building a nest up there, preparing to raise a family. I thought maybe I could find a tenant to move in that liked pigeons.

Maybe some wild bird, a natural predator, will kill them, said another tenant.

The cats are trying to get them, said another.

The owner wont like them, said yet another.

Get one of those fake owls at the hardware store, said another.

I thought about all of these ideas as I began to tape off the living room.

I didnt want to drive to the hardware store. I practically lived there already, and I wasnt in the mood to spend another dime. Maybe I could screen off their entrance. I tried reaching up there, but it was too high, and if I stepped out on the railing the fall would kill me, and I didnt have a ladder that would go up that high.

Then it hit me.

A natural predator, a fake owl.

I looked at my feather duster.

It was a big oversized one with a telescopic handle and big brown feathers. It looked like a headless turkey vulture.

I put two pieces of blue masking tape on it for eyes and then taped it to the railing.

The wind blew its feathers about like a big ugly bird monster. It appeared lifelike.

The two pigeons on the adjoining peak watched me mount it. They began talking about it. They paced nervously back and forth. I could sense their fear. They realized instinctively and almost instantly that this was no place to build their nest, raise their family and revisit year after year.

They departed and I havent seen them since.

From The Property Manager, a homeowners guide to cheap and easy repairs. by Jim Muckle