Telepathy IV: Pigeons and Warblers (or The Price of Company)
CNF by James B. Nicola
The pigeons have caught on that I am friendly.
Before I chase them away from my 45th floor terrace, I walk out and try to alert them to the dangers of flying this high when you're only a pigeon. I use both spoken English and frustrated attempts at pigeon telepathy.
I say things like,
Be careful of the windows, now!
and
Watch out for sudden gales!
and
I know your pigeon radar doesn't work as well at this altitude so fly back down to earth just as carefully as you can. I mean NOW. At the moment there's no wind, so it would be a fine time if you want to try. No, I did not mean to fly over to another ledge or the roof just so you don't have to listen to me. I mean: you should go down, down, down. Come on now, pigeons, I know what I'm talking about. You're in danger, but it's as safe as it's going to get. So hop to it!
As you have probably figured out by now, this season we are getting an uncharacteristically high frequency of city birds up on the 45th floor and 46th floor terraces and ledges, and the roof, and I worry about them.
A few weeks ago, after suffering a bout of relentless harsh chirping, I went out on my terrace to see what creature was making such a ruckus and finally spotted a lone baby warbler—or not far beyond babyhood—on the edge of the roof. It must have been born this very spring and gotten carried away by either a sudden updraft or the sheer joy of flight, as any novice would. But its flight-instructor-parents were nowhere to be seen.
Of course, they must have had a whole brood to look after, so I understood their dilemma. I could tell by its constant and repetitive song-that-was-no-song that the little thing was scared to death, all alone up there. I tried to talk it down, which did not work, then calm it down, which also accomplished nothing. So I sent out a call for its parents, wherever they were, both telepathically and with a few ridiculous appeals like
Mom and Dad, where a-a-a-are you? Junior is up here and needs your help!
But they never showed up. Warbler telepathy is not my strong suit.
You ask, why didn't it just fly down? As you may or may not recall my telling the pigeons, supra: Bird sense, pigeons' and warblers', goes amok way up on the 45th floor, that's why. Navigating is no simple matter. Seagulls by the sea, and eagles and condors at any altitude—oh and ospreys, let us not overlook the osprey—they certainly have those flight skills. But not all birds anywhere, and not at any height. I know because some ornithologist or bird-watcher (now known as a "birder") told me so years ago. So I really felt for the little guy. Or gal. Whose song should turn into something real pretty once it's not so scared.
Since I wasn't helping any, I went on with my day.
When I got back home hours later, I noticed the quieter apartment, and then that the warbler was gone, and somehow I knew, or felt, that it made its way down safely, though whether a parent or two finally helped it down or the kid braved taking to the air solo before sundown, I can't say. We do get the occasional ever-hungry hawk on the West Side, so I do not know for sure. But I remain hopeful. It was a cute bird.
Now I don’t know if there is anything to human-to-avian telepathy, but I have been making some demonstrable advances with a family of geese on Pier 84 over the last few years. But if there is anything similar possible with other species, I fear that now the pigeons and occasional warbler know they have nothing to fear from me and will be visiting my terrace this season more than ever—and more than is good for them. Which means that I'll have plenty of company, I guess, but also that I'll be spending undue time and effort washing off guano from the ledge.
BIO: James B. Nicola's nonfiction book Playing the Audience won a Choice magazine award. Recent nonfiction can be found on-line at Heimat Review, About Place, Mr. Beller’s Neighborhood, Unlikely Stories and Lowestoft Chronicle; fiction, at Epistemic, 10 x 10 Flash Fiction, Neither Fish Nor Foul, The GroundUp, Sine Qua Non, and Platform Review; poetry in The Argyle and upcoming in Blood+Honey. The latest of his eight full-length poetry collections are Fires of Heaven, Turns & Twists, and Natural Tendencies.