On the Care and Feeding of Columbia’s Pigeons

As we continue our journey into the new millennium, we question our appropriate role as beings sharing this planet. Should we cling to an archaic idea that defines Man as master of animals, or should we see ourselves as cousins to each and every creature that crawls, flies, or swims around and among us? Do other animals have rights? Do we have a moral obligation to live symbiotically with them? And how much, if at all, should we use, abuse, enslave, exploit, and eat them? These are tough questions, but the further we travel into the future, the more we need to confront them.

One particular question that challenges the Columbia and the wider New York City community is how to deal with pigeons. Often called rats with wings, pigeons are frequent subjects for debate. Are they cute? Are they a nuisance? Should we share our food with them? If so, how, how much, and where?

About 10 years ago, I experimented with the pigeons in front of Earl Hall. As a 1975 graduate of Columbia College with a B.A. in psychology and a teacher of English as a Second Language, I have always been fascinated by the study of cognition and learning. When I was a student taking a behavioral psychology course in the bowels of Schermerhorn, I deprived rats of water so that they would have to pull levers, a scholastic exercise that I have felt guilty about ever since I partook in it. I am ashamed of my complicity with an educational institution that tortured these little mammals just to see how clever they could be if they were dying of thirst.

It dawned on me one summer day in 1998 that I could have satisfied the requirements of that course in a much friendlier way, simply by going into the field and offering food in exchange for getting animals to do a few things for me in return. Twenty-five years later, I did just that.

My first test was to see if a pigeon would take a peanut out of my hand. I wanted to see if it would trust me enough to approach me and have a one-on-one encounter. I was surprised and delighted to see that, within five minutes, one pigeon readily snatched a peanut from my open palm. My next test was to see if the same pigeon would hop onto my hand if I raised it above the ground just a few inches—enough to make it impossible for the pigeon to get the peanut without actually alighting onto my palm.

The pigeon, after walking and craning its neck for a few seconds, finally made what I consider to be a bold decision to trust me enough to jump onto my hand. After the first pigeon made this move, a few of his intrepid pals imitated the action.

And so began what can be referred to as the Trafalgarization of the Columbia pigeons. Over the years, I have played all sorts of games with them, my favorite being a little circus trick, wherein I got some daring birds to walk a tightrope in order to get a peanut at the end of it. At the time, I was not thinking about the impact it might have on the campus. I was a teacher on summer vacation, and I was just having some fun.

Today, 10 years later, the Columbia pigeons are a bold and intrusive pack. They will fly onto anybody’s hand, and, unfortunately, oftentimes when not invited. Apparently, I started a fad in their community. I bear the responsibility for annoying a lot of people who want to sit on the steps to have a meal and find themselves accosted by these little beggars.

As for those who enjoy playing with the pigeons, I think it is my duty to suggest that we follow the Humane Society’s plan for the city, called “safe feeding zones.” In negotiations with Councilman Simcha Felder (44th District, Brooklyn), the HS is working with city lawyers to draw up a plan that will allow the feeding of pigeons in parks, on the grass, away from the heavily trafficked areas.

We can do the same thing at Columbia. We can feed the pigeons only on the grassy areas and abstain from inviting them to dine on the steps or any concrete places where people may sit. At least on the grass, their poop can actually function as fertilizer, and those of us who relax on the grass generally do so in our casual clothes, not our Sunday finest.

The Humane Society also advises that we feed only as much as the birds will consume in five to ten minutes, rather than feed with the clockwork regularity that conditions the birds to appear at the same place, same time, every day—and attract more and more of their compatriots over time.

If you want to dine alone, however, I have found that a loud clap of the hands is generally the best way to tell a pigeon that you are not in the mood for entertaining. They’re pretty smart, and they’ll get the idea and move on to other people who seem more interested in getting cozy with them. Although pigeons may not have all of our human cognitive skills, they are still sentient, social animals, and they can take a hint.

The author is a member of the Columbia College class of 1975.