I recently endured the passing of someone close to me, and since that time, I’ve been generally unhappy. For the past couple of days, I didn’t even leave the house.
This morning, however, I decided to get out and about to see if I could perhaps break out of my seemingly-intractable funk.
I walked over to Pike Place Market, grabbed a bag of donuts, then headed down to Victor Steinbrueck Park to contemplate life.
When I got to the park, I staked out a spot on a vacant bench, but within seconds, I felt like going back home. When I’m depressed, I just don’t feel like being out in public. I imagine that most people feel the same way.
Before getting up and calling it an effort, however, I spotted two pigeons out of the corner of my eye. I’m not sure why they caught my attention, but when I looked over, I saw a male pigeon, fully puffed out, pursuing a female pigeon. I guess it’s that time of year.
The male pursued the female back and forth, back and forth across the concrete, but when she failed to give up the birdtang, he immediately ran to another female pigeon (who had just arrived), and tried to mount her.
Unfortunately, his second choice wasn’t about to play that either, and she took off running as well, with the male in hot pursuit.
Eventually, the male got tired of pursuing her, so he made his move on another pigeon, then another, then another.
One after another, the female pigeons turned the male down, but his determination was admirable.
During this time, I kept thinking how this unabashed display of heterosexual assertiveness was so very inappropriate in Seattle. I kept waiting for a group of upper-middle-class white pigeons to descend on the park carrying “No means No!” signs in their beaks, and finally, I elicited a laugh. The first laugh in awhile.
When I looked at my watch, I realized that a full twenty minutes had passed.
Sometimes, we find respite in the most unlikely of places. Today, I found mine in the mating rituals of the common pigeon, and the ridicule of political correctness.