If Only He Would Have Remembered

A tale of avian love and domestic horror

"Doug?" i asked with some disappointment, feeling the heavy weight in my belly where my eggs are developing

"Where are the sticks? i need to lay these eggs soon and we still don't have a proper nest"

there he is on the branch before me, his massive breast pushed out in front of him, lightly cooing like he always does when he's got an idea instead of actually helping with the work

"I want to show you, Demelza." he says

and so we take flight off the branches and i follow behind Doug, catching the air that he weaves with such grace and precision and we're flying over the multicolored roof tops the sun shining warmly on my feathers

"Doug! How far is this place?" i asked

"We're almost there!" and i see now that we're lowering our altitude slightly now, and i can see where we're heading for and i don't see a single tree in sight and we land on a hard little rectangular ledge and for a moment i catch Doug's beady little eye and then he turns around and faces disappears behind this flowing white fabric

"Come on!" i hear him coo

and i follow suit and i find us inside what i can only believe is a big baby bird nest, a cavernous cold and hard looking place

"Eh?" i hear Doug say

he's having a bit of trouble maneuvering himself in side this place, the air feels so dead

"I don't see any sticks" i say

and the weight of my developing eggs makes me feel even more frustrated with his lack of preparation and he's still throwing feathers all over the place and flapping to get over to a small elevated surface

"Well, no." he admits

he finally lands with a little thud, his neck feathers ruffling in that way he does when he's being sheepish, though even embarrassed he cuts quite the figure with his broad chest gleaming in the strange flat light

"but look at all this space Demelza, we could nest here, raise a whole brood, no hawks no cats no angry flesh-lumps waving their strange detached wings at us, think of how safe our chicks would be"

wait did he just say flesh-lumps, because now that he mentions it this does seem like the kind of place those enormous clumsy creatures might inhabit, those lumbering bipedal blobs that walk on only two feet and cover their pink skin with colorful pelts and the realization is hitting me like i've flown into a window and suddenly i'm very aware that we are inside one of their dwellings, one of those mysterious boxes they disappear into when they're not stumbling around the parks dropping crumbs

"Doug," i say carefully, "this is a flesh-lump nest isn't it?"

he bobs his head enthusiastically and spreads his wings wide like he owns this entire strange territory, making my heart skip even as my brain screams danger

"Exactly! And they're not here right now so we have the whole place to ourselves!"

i can tell he's off on one of his silly flightless ideas

"Imagine Demelza, no competition for food, no territorial disputes with other flocks, just us and all this space!"

but before i can explain why this is a terrible idea i hear something that makes every feather on my body stand up straight, the sound of those heavy footsteps that belong to the giant bald-walkers, getting closer and closer

"Doug! They're coming back!" i quietly coo

but he's too busy exploring, poking his beak into corners and crevices like he's already planning where to build, his confident strut making his chest feathers shimmer even in this artificial cave and the footsteps are definitely getting louder now and there's the sound of those clicking things they use to open their entrances and i'm starting to panic because everyone knows what happens when bald-walkers find pigeons in their territory, they make those horrible screeching sounds and wave things around and Doug finally notices my distress and turns toward the sound just as the entrance swings open and there they are, two of the massive creatures, standing there with their beady little eyes wide and their featherless faces making expressions i can't interpret, and even in this moment of terror i can't help but notice how Doug's chest swells with protective instinct, his powerful breast thrust forward like he's ready to defend our territory and one of them makes a sound that's definitely not cooing

"AAAAAHHHHH!" which seems unnecessarily dramatic

the other one starts flapping its detached wings and making rapid chattering sounds and lunging toward us with surprising speed for such clumsy creatures and that's when my body decides to respond to the stress in the most natural way possible and as one of them gets close enough that i can smell its weird artificial scent a hot wet mess explodes from my cloaca and hits the pristine white surface with a satisfying splat right between its enormous feet and Doug apparently has the same stress response because as the other flesh-lump starts waving some kind of long-handled object at him he releases a particularly generous dollop that lands with a wet thump on what looks like their eating surface, and despite our dire circumstances there's something magnificent about the way he maintains his regal posture even while evacuating his bowels in terror

"Maybe we should go!" Doug suggests

this is possibly the most sensible thing he's said all day, his voice steady even as another warm contribution drops from his stressed system but every time we try to move toward where we entered, one of the bald-walkers blocks our path with increasingly frantic movements and we get more agitated and suddenly i'm producing a steady stream of warm liquid terror that spatters across their floor in abstract patterns suddenly, one of them tries to corner me with what appears to be a colorful cloth and in my panic i release a particularly explosive burst that catches the edge of the fabric and sends the creature stumbling backward making those awful shrieking sounds while Doug watches with what i swear is admiration even as his own digestive system continues its honest commentary and i try to fly toward the opening we came through but the other flesh-lump waves some kind of long stick at me and i veer away, my body responding to the near-miss by depositing a chunky white surprise right onto what looks like their sleeping area

"Doug we need to coordinate our escape!"

i call to him but he's busy having his own panic response and just as one of the flesh-lumps reaches up toward him with grasping appendages he releases a particularly wet bombardment that catches the creature right on its hairless head, his aim so precise it's almost artistic and the bald-walker stumbles backward with renewed shrieking and i can't help but feel a little proud of Doug's marksmanship even as my own digestive system continues leaving warm puddles wherever i land and the flesh-lumps seem to be getting more agitated, making increasingly loud sounds and waving more objects, which of course makes us more nervous and as one of them corners me near a tall structure i respond with a generous splatter of chunky white protest that decorates whatever vertical surface i'm pressed against and i manage to flutter up toward the ceiling where there might be another opening but instead i find myself trapped in a corner while my stress continues to manifest in the most natural way possible, each panicked wingbeat accompanied by another warm contribution to their increasingly artistic floor, and even up here i can see Doug below looking so handsome and determined despite the chaos and Doug finally joins me up high and we huddle together, our bodies working overtime to express our feelings about this invasion of our personal space, his warm feathered body pressed against mine making me feel safer even as we both continue our involuntary artistic expression, and below us the two bald-walkers are now pointing at the growing collection of our liquid testimonials scattered across their territory

"I don't think they appreciate our presence" says Doug

his voice still carrying that confidence that makes my crop flutter

"No kidding, Doug!" i reply

another hot mess drops from my stressed system onto something soft and colorful below, leaving what i imagine is a particularly memorable stain and we're both breathing hard now, our hearts beating fast enough to power flight across half the city, and every few seconds another warm testimony to our terror falls from one of us to add to the increasingly impressive installation we're creating, Doug's protective wing stretched slightly over me even in our panic and the creatures below seem to be having some kind of discussion, making those strange warbling sounds they use to communicate, probably trying to figure out how to remove two terrified pigeons and their generous artistic contributions from their previously pristine nest

but wait, there's movement of air, a breeze that shouldn't exist in this enclosed space, and i turn my head to see blessed salvation in the form of an opening in the wall, a rectangular gap that shows blue sky and freedom beyond

"Doug! the window!" i screech

i forget all dignity as another involuntary gift of warm liquid terror drops from my stressed system and he sees it too and we both launch ourselves toward that precious opening, our wings beating frantically as we dodge the flailing appendages of the flesh-lumps who seem to realize we've found our escape route, Doug's powerful wingbeats cutting through the air ahead of me like he's clearing a path and with one final stress-induced contribution from each of us, we rocket through the window opening and burst into the glorious open air where we belong, leaving behind what was undoubtedly the most comprehensive collection of pigeon panic-commentary those poor bald-walkers had ever witnessed and the wind catches our wings and suddenly we're soaring, free from that bizarre geometric prison, though i can still hear the agitated sounds of the flesh-lumps echoing from their dwelling behind us, and watching Doug's graceful form cutting through the air ahead of me makes me remember why i fell for him in the first place

"Well, that was educational" Doug pants

we circle back toward our usual territory, landing on a branch, his chest still puffed out with pride despite our hasty retreat

"Doug..." i say

i'm still catching my breath and admiring the way the sunlight catches his iridescent neck feathers but also feeling the urgent weight of my developing eggs

"Next time you want to explore bald-walker architecture, maybe mention that in advance, and more importantly, maybe we could focus on actually building a nest like responsible parents instead of nearly getting us killed in some ridiculous shortcut scheme!"

and he pauses a moment, his little eye looking lustrous and appealing

"Noted Demelza. Noted" he replies

and despite everything i'm just grateful we're both safely back where pigeons belong, though i can't help but wonder if he's really going to step up and be the partner i need him to be when these eggs are ready to hatch and i still don't have a single stick for the nest where i desperately need to lay my eggs