Last summer for about a week, it was uncharacteristically hot in San Francisco. And by “uncharacteristically” I mean it actually felt like New York in August and not just an up tick in the temperature of the perpetually chilly summer winds. There were two immediate and unpleasant results.
First, the pigeons from the shopping center across the street went out hunting for water and found our pretty garden fountain. This sucks. Pigeons are dirty, stay forever and are mean to the doves we happily harbor year-round. One of the pigeons was missing an eye. In its place was a four-inch stick. I couldn’t figure out how it happened. It was definitely an opposable thumbs crime. Unless there’s something I don’t know about pigeon gangs.
Second, a herd of starlings shat all over our deck. And by “all over” I mean blanket bombed to the point where the color of the deck was in question. Starlings are a bad-tempered lot.
This is a picture of our resident baby sparrow. If you look closely you can see his fluff.
Displaced 
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