(Added Monday: Problem-Child-Bride is going out of town for a few days. Back next week. Toodle-pip old chaps!)
Trouble’s a-brewin’ in the Problem Household. Or rather in the Problem Garden. Or to be even more precise, under the eaves of our Problem Shed, where a family of pigeons is now nesting its second clutch of eggs of the season. Pigeon poo everywhere.
Talks are breaking down between the Problem Husband, who is hawkish on the pigeons, and me. I’m, generally speaking, more doveish on pigeons: a period of watchful waiting is what’s needed and besides, the odds are they will move on soon without any ugly interspecies strife having to occur. Why not use this opportunity to show the pigeons we can be tolerant, live and let live etc? That might just lead to its own rewards as the word spreads in the pigeon community – a fierce and proud nation – and we might start to find our car happily unpooped upon even though all the other cars in the lot are festooned with paint-corroding messages of displeasure.
“Appeasement!” cries the Problem Husband to this. “Remember Chamberlain! What a wally he turned out to be.”
“But remember too how prudence and caution served Kennedy during the Cuban Missile Crisis.” I counter. “We cannot engage in brinksbirdship with these pigeons – the results could be devastating. We’ve seen the inches of guano just one pigeon family can produce. Think what we’d face in the event of a showdown! There are millions of them and only 4 of us and we, as a civilized people, are bound by the Picadilly Conventions” (Like the Geneva ones only with pigeons instead of prisoners).
“Harrumph!” offers the Problem Husband.
And thus have The Talks gone for the past few months, ever since Mr. and Mrs. Peck and Family moved in.
This evening, however, was a bit different. There was an emergency summit of the Group of 2 Industrious Parents as the Problem Husband had just met with an extra frustrating Sudoku and had earlier been forced to cheat at several succesive games of Solitaire. Seeking a distraction from his disappointments, he did as many troubled governments will do and deflected attention to the problem of our “undocumented immigrants”, or pigeons as the rest of us know them.
Some fancy diplomatic footwork was needed to de-escalate the rhetoric which had become preoccupied with words like “exterminator”, “water-hose” and “death, death, DEATH to the varmint!” Again, I counselled patience but I think this line of argument is losing its appeal to the PH as the bats are back now too working on their own separate poo-heap, and Mr.& Mrs. Peck have started on brood #2. But I believe the Pecks took this decision according to largely evolutionary imperatives and not, as the PH suggests, ” just to piss me off” or because they’re “looking for free housing and welfare checks from bleeding heart liberals like you.”
I could see at this point that the only way to pour oil on PH’s troubled waters was to feed him. So I made him some popcorn and soon he was snuffling contentedly again, amongst the Sunday papers. The hawk has been temporarily de-taloned, but I fear that soon it will take more than reason and heart-healthy snacks to soothe the beast that squawks for pigeon-blood within my husband’s heart.
I am ready to throw it open to the United Blogly Nations for arbitration. How have others dealt with guests who have over-stayed their welcome and showed poor bathroom etiquette?