My husband spent hours in our back yard, picking off the pigeons with his pellet gun - he's a crack shot, and since he was shooting up
, there was little chance of collateral damage. There are power poles running over our property (the price of a historic home), and the lady behind us puts cat food out. Attracts pigeons like cream does cats. We park in the back, and needless to say, it was impossible to keep the cars clean of bird mess. He probably killed 40-50 of those things in the first 5 years we lived there. Didn't even make a dent. It did, however, bring him a perverse pleasure to get back at those nasty animals.
The ones that dropped into our yard were easy enough to dispose of. The ones that dropped into the alley...well, lets just say that the spicy and tame cats in the 'hood learned that pellet gun noises meant easy dinner. Usually the bird carcass was gone before we even got the gate open to retrieve it.
Except the last one he shot
- the one that made him quit. He took aim, shot, hit the bird square on the head. It plumeted to the pavement below in a mess of feathers. The little girl who was walking through the alley with her mom (we couldn't see them from our angle) let out a scream that'd curl your hair. Her mom's scream was less piercing, but just as scared. They turned around and ran out of the alley. Gary thought that it was a sign that perhaps bird killing just wasn't a good idea in an inner-city neighborhood...