The Pigeons of Pyshkinskaya: More Than Flying Rats

What on earth are you doing?

The guy in the fluorescent orange vest charged up to the man feeding the pigeons.

Don’t you know those birds make a terrible mess?

Mr. Pigeon Feeder continued with his tearing off hunks of bread and tossing them to the gaggle gathered around him.

Mr. Orange Vest would be a city employee assigned to keep Pyshkinskaya Boulevard picked up, the petunias watered and the park benches aligned. And flocks of pigeons just don’t fit in with a neighborhood that's more and more upscale.

To the bird feeders of the world, pigeons might seem poetic with a big-city charm. Others see pigeons as flying rats, dirty carriers of disease and a growing nuisance, thanks to the folks who dole out bread.



Nevertheless, pigeons proved themselves to be quite useful during World Wars I and II. Pigeons were vital during D-Day communications when any other messages might have been intercepted by the enemy. Throughout the war, specially trained pigeons accompanied paratroopers behind enemy lines and then, with tiny cameras strapped to their chests, headed back home, providing quite literally a. . . a bird’s eye view of enemy goings-on.

Over the years, several pigeons have been awarded military honors for their wartime service, the most famous being Cheri Ami. It's fun to imagine pigeons strutting around with military medals pinned to their feathers.




Several years back when I, myself, lived on Pyshkinskaya Boulevard, I went through a pigeon-feeding stage. It started with one pigeon, Charles, I named him, because he was reserved and dignified, rather gentlemanly in fact. Charles would appear on my kitchen window sill for a bite to eat. Out of all the windows on that vast building, he was able to pick out mine and return there as though equipped with a built-in GPS. What fun we had, that little pigeon and I, until word spread to his feathered friends and what a bunch of thugs they were. Very soon, near riots erupted when I put out bread. All that pushing and shoving was quite unpleasant and I get quite enough of that sort of behavior from the other two-footed creatures on the trams and buses.

Soon I'd had enough of the pigeon feeding and decided to quit that cold turkey. Still those hopeful fellows would spot me in the kitchen and start hopping around on the ledge for food. Eventually their visits tapered off, but even 2-3 years later, a pigeon or two would show up begging for food. Fortunately, I didn't spot any cameras strapped to their bellies.

And what about you, dear blog reader, are you a feeder of pigeons or do you consider them flying rats? Say, if you were ever a photographer pigeon and ended up in another country, where would you like to be sent to photograph the scenery?

Meet the Border Birds

Last week, these little sparrows were hanging out in thickets along the Ukrainian-Russian border, apparently unsure and unconcerned as to which country they should pledge their allegiance. What a simple life. These little birds have the right idea though: They’re loitering in front of a building that says Little Snacks, a sign that's seen better days.


When I see a sparrow, what comes to my mind is the refrain from the old hymn, . . . for His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me. Often the timing is perfect and I have to smile and relax a bit because usually I’m hurrying along somewhere, out on the street and a bit anxious about whatever.

The words are from a hymn of the same name based on Matthew 10:29-31. Following is one of the verses.

. . .Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;
Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

(Words by Civilla Martin, 1905)

As I edged closer with my camera, dozens of birds darted off the bushes to the building. (Chick-ens!) Can't help but think that there's an analogy in there somewhere. . .

But my favorite of the bunch is the sparrow perched solo there under the Russian letter H, which is the letter N in English. Sometimes I feel like that little bird: Perched in transition. Sort of belonging to the building birds, sort of belonging to the bramble birds. But living in-between and flying solo when need be.

Please help with this. What analogy might there be here with these sparrows? Feel free to fly by, provide a comment and enlighten the rest of us. . . hanging around at the border.

Of Canaries and Countdowns

We were counting down to midnight on New Year’s Eve and little Sunny insisted on parking there in front of the clock. This was problematic only because the black book upon which he was perched is a Bible. And that made me a little nervous. What came to mind was the old classic hymn, Standing on the Promises…. and in that vein I cautioned him, Young man, you may meditate, you may contemplate, you may think spiritual thoughts. But when it comes time to . . . you know, do your little birdie business, you’d better be heading on back to your cage. . .

But you know canaries. They’re such. . . bird brains.

Little Laika: Top Dog in the Space Race

(Photo courtesy of Reuters News Service)

November 3, 1957, the Soviets blazed a trail into space by launching the first living creature, a dog named Laika (Little Barker). The project was launched only one month after Sputnik in October 1957, the first satellite in orbit. Premier Krushchev, still heady with the international excitement of being first in space, ordered his space program to come up with something special for November 7th, the 40th anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution - when Czar Nicolas II was booted out and Communists came to power.

Soviet scientists were in a bit of a quandary how to top Sputnik and design something special and successful within weeks. No pressure there of course. ;) So when someone suggested launching a dog into space, undoubtedly shouts of BINGO (бинго!) were heard in the laboratory. There was hardly enough time to design a space craft let alone a re-entry craft. And so, unfortunately for the little Laika, along with the honor of being first in space came the dubious honor of being the first cosmic martyr.

Nine days before the launch, two small dogs were selected, both stray mongrels, considered better suited for the harsh conditions than purebreds. Russia is the land of the stray as I often say, so there was no shortage of choices. How the lot fell to Laika is still grounds for speculation. She was chosen because of her good looks, one story goes. The lucky dog needed to be photogenic considering that her face would be printed in papers around the world. Another story is that Laika’s rival was top dog in the hearts of the space scientists and they couldn’t bear to think of her demise in space. And so it was that little Laika was chosen for the auspicious role.

(Photo courtesy of Reuters News Service)

Other questions might surface: Did Laika have any choice? Did she go willingly? did she at least get to bid her loved ones farewell? Alas, some things are left for the ages, the answers echoing somewhere in the stratosphere. For little Laika, the choice was only to do and die, not to ask the reason why.




After Laika’s debut in the space program, other dogs followed her into the cosmos. The most famous were Belka (White-y) and Strelka (Little Arrow) in August, 1960. In a documentary shown on local TV last Sunday, we saw the landing of their space craft, Sputnik 5, out in the steppe somewhere, being met by several folks in a pickup truck, as I recall, including someone in a lab coat and little Belka being helped out of her rig, not unlike a sausage stuffed into a casing. But she emerged happy and frisky and tickled to be back on planet earth. Belka and Strelka were not alone; they were accompanied by a rabbit, 42 mice and 2 rats. All passengers survived.

After she returned from space, Strelka bore a litter of puppies, one of which Nikita Krushchev presented as a gift to a young Caroline Kennedy. The little dog became a family pet only after passing security clearance because this was, after all the height of the Cold War. There was no need for another spy, particularly a four-footed one.

The following spring when the Soviets sent the first man into space, Yuri Gagarin was said to have quipped, I still don’t understand who I am: the first human or the last dog in space.



Photos: Above, that's me with Yuri Gagarin, the first man in space. Below, Statue erected in honor of his visit to Rostov-on-Don, July 1967.

Will Wag, Woof or Work for Food

"Help the dog with food," the sign reads. A dachshund -- perhaps Dasha the Dachshund -- dressed as a Russian babyshka, begs for food on a busy street corner in Rostov-on-Don.