Fuck

Hate of pigeons didn’t start until the 20th Century. Before that was about 9,900 years of loving them. The rock pigeon was domesticated 10,000 years ago and not only that, we took them freaking everywhere. Pigeons were the first domesticated bird and they were an all-around animal even though they were later bred into more specialised varieties. They were small but had a high feed conversion rate, in other words it didn’t cost a whole lot of money or space to keep and they provided a steady and reliable source of protein as eggs or meat. They home, so you could take them with you and then release them from wherever you were and they’d pretty reliably make their way back. Pigeons are actually among the fastest flyers and they can home over some incredible distances (what fantastic navigators!). They were an incredibly important line of communication for multiple civilisations in human history. You know the first ever Olympics? Pigeons were delivering that news around the Known World at the time. Also, their ability to breed any time of year regardless of temperature or photoperiod? That was us, we did that to them, back when people who couldn’t afford fancier animals could keep a pair or two for meat/eggs. 

Rooftop pigeon keeping isn’t new, it’s been around for centuries and is/was important to a whole variety of cultures. Pigeons live with us in cities because we put them there, we made them into city birds. I get that there are problems with bird droppings and there’s implications for too-large flocks. By all means those are things we should look to control, but you don’t need to hate pigeons with every fibre of your being. You don’t need to despise them or brush them off as stupid (they have been intelligence tested extensively as laboratory animals because guess what other setting they’re pretty well-adapted to? LABORATORIES!) because they aren’t stupid. They’re soft intelligent creatures and I don’t have time to list everything I love about pigeons again. You don’t need to aggressively fight them or have a deep desire to kill them at all. It’s so unnecessary, especially if you realise that the majority of reasons pigeons are so ubiquitous is a direct result of human interference.

We haven’t always hated pigeons though, Darwin’s pigeon chapter in The Origin of Species took so much of the spotlight that publishers at the time wanted him to make the book ONLY about pigeons and to hell with the rest because Victorian’s were obsessed with pigeons (as much as I would enjoy a book solely on pigeons, it’s probably best that he didn’t listen).  My point is, for millenia, we loved pigeons. We loved them so much we took them everywhere with us and shaped them into a bird very well adapted for living alongside us.

It’s only been very recently that we decided we hated them, that we decided to blame them for ruining our cities. The language we use to describe pigeons is pretty awful. But it wasn’t always, and I wish we remembered that. I wish we would stop blaming them for being what we made them, what they are, and spent more time actually tackling the problems our cities face.  

And also pigeon poop was a very valuable fertilizer before we had other options, people would hire guards to stop thieves from stealing their flock’s poop.

We never intended to train her for educational programs. It was a job reserved for our raptors. It was our pigeon who decided she would be a part of what we were doing. One day, when we entered her enclosure to change water and food, she decided to fly to my hand and perch like our raptors do. 

No training, no treats, just the reward of being with us. 

What we hadn’t noticed for the couple months prior was her watching us. This brilliant little bird had been watching us every day as we trained and worked with our raptors. Finally she decided she didn’t want to be left out any longer. She made her place on our hands.

This occurred several times before we finally put her on a glove and brought her into the public. Needless to say, she was right at home. She fluffed up and preened the entire evening while people gawked and asked us why we had a pigeon on one glove and a hawk on another. 

Since then, we’ve added 5 more rescued pigeons to our growing flock. And our pigeon (Tybalt) has become a mainstay ambassador for our programs. Each of our pigeons are incredibly fun to watch and interact with. Pigeons simply don’t get enough love. They are marvelous creatures incredibly suited to life alongside people both physically and mentally. 

Photo by .jocelyn.

They have a complex and fascinating social structure, both within a flock and with other individuals:

Photo by Ingrid Taylar

AND THEY ARE JUST SUPER CUTE, HONESTLY:

Most wild animals all look alike within a species, with TINY, RARE individual variations in terms of rare color morphs, unusually big or small animals, different facial markings and other subtleties. But there is no evolutionary benefit to having species where everyone looks slightly different, and in fact, it’s beneficial for species to be similar and consistent, with a distinctive aesthetic. Especially if you’re trying to blend into the environment - a black wolf is all very well, but it looks positively silly in the summer tundra, where its grey/brown/brindley cousins blend in. A white deer has a great aesthetic - and a very short lifespan in the forest. Distinctive Protagonist looks are rare in the wild, simply because natural selection usually comes down heavily on them.

To humans, most wild animals are visually indistinguishable from each other.

As a result, most wild animals are like

“Oh it’s obvious - you can tell the twins apart because Kara has a big nose.”

Wild animals usually have a pretty consistent aesthetic within their species. It’s important to them!

SO WHAT IS GOING ON WITH PIGEONS?

Look, in one small picture you’ve got a red color morph in the center, several melanistic dark morphs, a few solid black birds, a few variations on the wildtype wing pattern, a PIEBALD, a piebald copper color morph…

Like, there are LAYERS UPON LAYERS of pigeon diversity in most flocks you see. Pure white ones with black wingtips. Solid brown ones with pink iridescent patches. Pale pinkish pigeons.

WHY IS THAT? When other wild animals consider “being slightly fluffier than my brother” to be dangerously distinctive in most circumstances? BECAUSE CITY PIGEONS AREN’T TRULY WILD.

MANY OF THEM (POSSIBLY MOST OR ALL) ARE FERAL MIXES.

THEY WERE ONCE BELOVED PETS, SPECIAL MESSENGERS, EXQUISITE SHOW-WINNERS, AND PRIZED LIVESTOCK.

THEIR PRETTY COLORS WERE DELIBERATELY INTRODUCED BY HUMANS.

AND NOW THEIR HUMANS DON’T LOVE THEM ANY MORE.

See, pigeon fanciers bred (and still breed!) a huge array of pigeons. And the resulting swarms of released/discarded/escaped/phased out “fancy” pigeons stayed around humans. What else were they going to do? They interbred with wildtype pigeons.

Lots of the pigeons you see in public are feral. They’re not wild animals. They’re citizen animals. They’re genetically engineered. And now that’s what “city” pigeons are.

These “wild” horses are all different colors because they’re actually feral. Mustangs in the American West are the descendants of imported European horses - they’re an invasive domestic species that colonized an ecological niche, but they are domestic animals. Their distinctive patterns were deliberately bred by humans. A few generations of running around on the prairie isn’t going to erase that and turn them back into wildtypes. If you catch an adult mustang and train it for a short period, you can ride it and have it do tricks and make it love you. It’s a domestic animal. You can’t really do that with an adult zebra.

No matter how many generations these dogs stay on the street and interbreed with one another, they won’t turn back into wolves. They can’t. They’re deliberately genetically engineered. If you catch one (even after generations of rough living, even as an adult) you can make it stare at your face, care about your body language, and love you.

City pigeons? Well, you don’t have to like them, but they’re in the same boat. They’re tamed animals, bred on purpose, living in a human community. Their very bodies are marked with their former ownership and allegiance; they cannot really return to what they once were; if you caught one, you could make it love you (in a limited pigeon-y way.) They have gone to “the wild,” but not very far from us, and they’d be happy to come back.

So next time you see a flock of city pigeons, spare a moment to note their diversity. The wing patterns. The pied, mottled and brindled. The color types.

All of it was once meant to please you.

DUM-E just stops entirely. He cuts power, limbs hanging low, heavy with an impossible yet present grief. His entire purpose was to do menial tasks for his master, and now his master is gone.

When Peter first walks into Tony’s lab, after weeks of trying and failing, he falls to his knees in the middle of the room. He’s not crying - no, the gravity of his grief tugs on him from the inside - but he’s shaking. He wants to stay here forever, surrounded by all the things Tony poured himself into.

He startles when there’s a gentle nudge to his shoulder. He ignores it at first, but then a soft whir makes him look up. DUM-E’s there, somehow managing to convey sadness, and Peter stretches out a hand to rest on the bot’s arm. DUM-E trills quietly, and they stay like that for awhile.

Suddenly, a projection opens up in front of them, and Peter jerks in surprise.

“FRIDAY?” he asks hesitantly, but he doesn’t get a verbal response.

Instead, a video starts playing. Peter sees Tony, and the sight cracks him wide open.

“Please stop.” His voice cracks on the request, but FRIDAY ignores him. The audio starts filtering in, and Peter can’t help but listen.

The first clip is Tony talking to Pepper.

“No, I don’t care what SHIELD says, I’m not telling them who Spider-Man is. Let the kid deal with that when he’s older. God,” he says irritably, and then it flashes to another clip.

“Cancel the meeting. May sent a text; Peter had a bad patrol. He’s coming over to the lab, and I don’t want him stuck in his head,” Tony tells Pepper.

Peter watches, transfixed. The ache inside him intensifies into something unbearable, but he can’t seem to look away as another clip is played, just flashes of Tony in the Compound. This time, he’s talking to Rhodey in the kitchen, leaning casually against the counter.

“Never figured you for the mentor type. But it’s a good look on you, Tones,” he comments, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Tony takes a sip from his mug of coffee. “Yeah, well, he’s a good kid. He’s already better than all of us combined. He’s going to save the world one day.”

Peter’s throat aches, clogged up with cries he hasn’t let out since Tony died, but he tries to swallow around it, eyes burning.

“FRIDAY, please,” he croaks, staring at Tony’s face through tears. The AI ignores him.

This time, Tony is in his workshop, working on Peter’s suit.

“FRI, what do we think about having a feature where a hard exo-skeleton can form around the suit? Poor kid’s terrified of being crushed after the whole Toomes thing. It’d be nano-tech, obviously, but it’d provide a little more protection and be able to withstand more weight.”

Peter can’t help the few tears that spill over, and he swipes at them angrily. He doesn’t want to cry. He just wants to be better. The next clip plays, and he’s shaking in earnest now, the ache of grief seeping into every corner of his body.

This time, Tony’s on the phone as he walks through the halls of the Compound.

“Happy, be careful on the roads when you come back with the kid. It’s icy out there,” he’s saying, and then the next bit of video plays.

Peter’s tears are now streaming down his face faster than he can stop them.

“No!” Tony bangs his fist on the table emphatically. “He’s not coming with us on this mission. The stakes are too high - he could get seriously hurt.”

“Tony,” Steve sighs. “Peter is good at what he does. We could really use him. You can’t wrap him in bubble wrap and protect him from everything. That’s part of this business.”

Tony gives him a scathing glare. “He’s not coming with us, and that’s final,” he spits before leaving the room.

A high-pitched sound leaves Peter, something inhuman and pained beyond belief, and he chokes, trying to hold it back as the next clip plays.

This time, Tony and Pepper are lying in bed, Tony’s head in her lap and she runs her fingers through his hair.

“Maybe I do want kids,” Tony says absentmindedly, and the hand in his hair freezes.

“Tony, you have literally never wanted kids,” Pepper reminds him.

“I don’t know,” Tony muses, staring at the ceiling. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, looking after someone, watching them grow up.”

Pepper’s silent for a moment, thoughts whirling, before she says, “This is because of Peter, isn’t it?”

Tony shoots up. “What? No, of course not. Why would you even say that?”

Pepper laughs, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Oh come on, Tony. You’re practically that kid’s dad,” she says. Tony opens his mouth to protest, but she cuts him off. “And before you argue with me, the other day you literally packed him a lunch to bring to school.”

“The kid’s gotta eat! What was I supposed to do? Let him starve?” he asks defensively, but Pepper just rolls her eyes.

“Admit it - you love him,” she states.

For a minute, he just doesn’t speak, an unnamed emotion welling up within him. Finally, he looks Pepper in the eye.

“Yeah,” he admits quietly. “I love him.”

Peter lets out a loud sob, and the projection closes. He curls in on himself, completely shaking apart at the seams as he finally lets himself cry out the grief he’s kept closed up all this time.

DUM-E gently rolls closer, trilling softly and nudging the boy in concern.

Hours later, Pepper finds him curled up on the floor, the bot hovering protectively over him, and she smiles sadly.

@robo-cryptid and her partner J are a goldmine of mchanzo interactions. 

“No not really. But sometimes I don’t want to exist though”

“You do know that’s suicidal ideation?”

“…what?”