Sometimes, You Can Hear God Laughing

Pigeons, by and large, seem to be reactionary creatures. "Oh look, someone's coming, let's fly away en masse!" "Oh, there's a statue, let's all go sit on it and poo!" - At least, that's what I thought.

To quote George Costanza, "We had a deal" with the pigeons. They get out of our way, we turn the other cheek when they poop on Abe Lincoln. The Pigeons in Parc Jeanne-Mance seem to have missed this class in Municipal Co-habitation. Traversing the torn-up, muddy field that separates avenues Duluth and Rachel the other morning, my path was blocked by our avian friends, mulling their days no doubt, waiting for something exciting to eat or poo on. And then I came along.

Pigeons to the left of me, Pigeons to the right of me, I was sure any second now I would be surrounded by flapping wings and nervous cooing. Nobody moved a muscle. The birds were a mosaic on the ground, still as could be. I carefully tiptoed around them. I looked back a moment later, and the birds had cleared a perfect path, about a yard wide, through their flock, just begging to be walked through, taunting me. That was the way it should have been in the first place - my path cleared.

As I often do when confused, I looked skyward to the west. I saw La Croix, and I could almost feel God laughing at me. You win this round, natural universe.