Posted by: dharmabeachbum | November 6, 2013

Let’s show our fellow critters some love

Two summers ago I had the joy of watching a flock of seven white pigeons feeding on the beach. I don’t know if they were eating sand fleas or sea oat grain, but they seemed to be happy hanging out on my digs. As happy as a tick on a fat dog. It was all just so cool to me.

Well, my joy slowly turned to sorrow, dissipating with the disappearance of the kit one bird at a time as the dog days of August passed. By the end of the month, I was out-and-out disheartened. Disgusted.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

One white pigeon of the flock of seven remained. The sole survivor. We humans know the terrible emptiness of being alone. So do animals. The lack of compassion and consideration that some people show for animals is repulsive.

White pigeons are often released as part of special ceremonies such as weddings and memorials. Their breed does have innate homing abilities, but I very much doubt that the flock flew home one bird at a time. It’s far more likely that they were easy pickings for birds of prey. We communicate. Birds communicate. It’s logical to think that they would have left as a group. Safety in numbers.

So, stop it already! Stop releasing white pigeons at weddings and at ceremonies for the dead. I realize that our late loved ones are special to us. But there are better ways to honor them. Their spirits are already with us in our hearts. Their energies surround us.

I know those of you reading this are bummed out by now, so I’ll try to cheer you up with a little humor and righteous sarcasm. Sometimes that’s all one can do when troubled — laugh.

That poor pigeon stuck out like a porcupine at a nudist colony when it walked up to my feet begging for food. As did its friends and family in the kit to which it once belonged.

“Don’t reach out to me, feathered friend. Can’t you see I’m drownin’ too? This sea of humanity surrounding me seems to be washed up. Like Osama Bin Laden after the Navy SEALs shot his arse and dumped him in Poseidon’s pad.”

I was using the same high-pitched tone of voice with the white pigeon as I usually do with Jon Seagull. I know. I talk to birds a lot. What can I say? I’m crazy as a loon.

Speaking of, I’m about to come across as being all high-and-mighty. Again. So, I’m going to prove right the mouth-breathing morons who recently pointed out my tendency for rambling when I’m manic (that’s why they call it mania, putrid peeps). This next sentence is written especially for Donnie and Susan, who run a ratty hotel downtown, since I know they will read it to keep track of me. I’m still as confident as General George S. Patton standing on a giant sand dune with a pair of binoculars, y’all.

Back to the business at hand. Here goes: Stop using balloons at those rituals, too. I keep picking up their deflated remains from the beach and disposing of them.

The Big Guy upstairs must have bad hands. He doesn’t seem to be catching those balloons you’re releasing.

Eeesh! Did I really just write that? Well, I guess I won’t be roaming around when storm clouds are in the vicinity for awhile. Nor will I be crossing Highway 17 Business without doing so at an intersection with a traffic light. Unfortunately, that’s no guarantee anyway. Once a week I see a vehicle cruise right through red lights or pull the ol’ tap-the-brake-and-go routine at stop signs at intersections along Business 17. At least once a week.

Don’t smite me for that little quip above, Lord. I was just doing my thing, you know? Free will and stuff. The whole idea of being struck down is a bummer, man. As The Dude in The Big Lebowski would say. Now, smitten? That’s a different thing. I want to be smitten with a good woman. What? You are a woman? Well, you’re a bit out of my league. Anyhoo. Please don’t smite me. I have work to do for putting the elitish snobs — the borish ones who think money and mammon makes them better than everyone else, including higher powers like yourself, in their places.

I do give you credit. Credit you more than deserve. You’re busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Uh, er, pardon my French. You’re tending to all the souls that have passed through the Pearly Gates. You have to keep an eye on sinners like me all across the pale blue dot. Talk about hard work. That’s one of the reasons I strike the DBB pose on the beach. That and, uh, paying homage to Mother Nature.

Man, I am rambling, aren’t I? Better bring this to a close. Use flowers at those ceremonies. They’re biodegradable.

White pigeons are often symbols of peace. Let’s show them some love.


  1. Each summer when I arrive in MB I go to Food Lion and shop. I always buy several jars of peanuts. Not for me, but for the pidgeons. Some mornings I find them sitting in my chair under my umbrella wating for me. One even let me pick him up this year. People think I’m crazy.

  2. They come to you, Miss Cindy, because animals sometimes can read the spirit and heart of humans. And you’re not crazy at all. Unless you want to join the club I’m in. Laughing out loud. They come to you because you are a beautiful person.

  3. Writer’s additional comments: There’s a rather long list of people living at the hotel whom I regard highly. I like and respect these people until given a reason not to: Chris, Garr, the four Mikes, Bridget, Steve, Cliff, Johnny and the senior-citizen sage, Jim. There may be an exception or two, but I believe they think highly of me as well. We had some good times and I won’t forget them. In fact, I carry pieces of them in my heart and I would stand beside them on battlefieds of their choosing. One of the Mikes, a jack of many trades, took time to show me the workings of an early-80s model Corvette on the very morning of the latest backstabbing, complete with letting me listen via a mechanic’s “stethoscope” to different parts of the engine. He told me how those parts should sound with the engine of the high-performance car running well. That was a first for me. Thanks Mike.

    Hunter S. Thompson, author “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” “The Rum Diaries,” “Hell’s Angels, “The Great Shark Hunt,” etc. was the father of Gonzo journalism. I really dig his stuff and I borrow from his “ink and rage” philosophy often when writing. He wrote, “I want to make a promise to you, the reader. And I don’t know if I can fulfill it tomorrow or even the day after that. But I put the bastards of this world on notice that I do not have their best interests at heart. I will try and speak for my reader. That is my promise. And it will be a voice made of ink and rage.”

  4. I would agree with you about the doves, however I visit kfc now and then so I would be wrong in doing so

    • Matthew, I’m laughing so hard. Thanks, I needed it. I forgot to make this point in the blog: I would eat anything if hungry, and that includes pigeons. Actually, I’ve already collected live coquinas (clams) and boiled them, added a little butter and pepper. Voila! Clam soup. Your point is well taken however. Laughing again. I love me some KFC now and then, too, even though I detest the slaughter houses (Tyson) in which chickens are butchered with no compassion on our kind’s part. Heck, I love fish (have some whiting in my freezer), even though our oceans are being overfished. Peace, man, and thanks so much for the morning chuckle. I’m busier right now than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest, but I WILL be by to visit your site soon!

      • no worries, peace

      • How you doing, Matthew? Nah. Worrying only cuts down on the good life. Thanks so much for revisiting da bum. Always a pleasure to host you. I’ll be back to visit ya. Busier right now than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest, but I’ll be back to see you soon. It’ll do me some good. Peace to you as well and enjoy the rest of the holidays. I will. LOL.

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