Please Don't Feed the Animal In Me

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Some weekends I feel closer to my food and this is one of them. That’s partly because yesterday we made our annual pilgrimage to Little Quail Farm in Valley Center to pick our own ripe persimmons. Partly it’s because I finally made it to a farmer’s market and felt a little pious buying direct from growers versus grocers. But mostly it’s because of pigeons.

Yesterday morning I drove down to Coronado to babysit canisters, cups and a couple of jackets while everyone in our half marathon training program ran around town at daybreak. (I even saw AKA Alice gearing up for a Silver Strand ride in a chance encounter.)

Once everyone took off, I sat on a concrete bench with a book and about 10 minutes later noticed a couple of pigeons walking toward me. Soon more pigeons were on the move and before I knew it they were arriving en masse. Feeling like a hapless victim in the early 1970s movie “Willard,” I stood up to leave, which is all the action it took for them to fly away.

But they kept coming back, on the hunt for a handout.

You see this all the time: wildlife that no longer fear humans because of those who feed them bread, chips, whatever is in their picnic basket. Essentially, our parks now serve as fast food joints for the birds, squirrels and other vermin who favor high fructose corn syrup to healthier fare, like fresh worms and bugs. It makes the animals and aviary life more bold, even mean.

I rarely eat at fast food restaurants, but I do tend to fill up at home with snack food or pop processed frozen dinners into the microwave or toaster oven, rather than take the time to plan, prepare and truly enjoy my meal. I’m sure it also contributes to my mood swings and my murky self-image.

So my personal challenge for the next month is to buy more “real food” that’s consumed before it – and my disposition – go bad. And to stay away from Coronado parks when the pigeons are on the prowl.

Photo courtesy of Bestweekever.tv.

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