We’re very fortunate to live perched up high on the sunny side of a little hill in our town. From where I stand to wash up I look down over lots of roof tops and just as many television aerials.
Perhaps it’s because I spend too much time in the kitchen, or perhaps it’s just because I can be quite observant of silly things while the obvious eludes me…but a few years ago I started to take notice of a pigeon who used my view as his courting ground. I noticed him because he was a garden variety, school yard pigeon with a white tip to one of his wings…while the girls he was courting were not.
They were native crested doves…and well outside his league.
Once I’d noticed him I couldn’t stop spotting him. I would see him turning alluring circles, cuttin’ a rug on his own grassy dance floors in front of low shrubs, void of leaves for the winter and instead dotted with crested pigeons, sitting like plump fruit soaking up the sun from bare but still camouflaging branches.
I often catch him strutting along a roof top with a line of top knot girls scurrying ahead of him trying to pretend they can’t see him while he chugs and puffs along after them cooing and never losing hope that one day he’ll turn a head.
The children and I decided he needed a name to suit such a committed valentine and so to us he’s become ‘Ronaldo’…international pigeon of romance and love.
Years after first noticing this feathery chap I’m not convinced he’ll ever turn the head of a crested lady…but while ever he persists with pursuing them I’m treated to daily installments of the most amusing avian Days of our Lives-esque rom-coms that keep me entertained while I tend to the never ending kitchen-ness that takes up more of my day than I’m entirely happy about.
Here’s to you Ronaldo.
Thank you for making me giggle and reminding me that it probably never does to give up your dreams…