Autumn\u2019s arrival has done nothing to dampen the piebald male\u2019s ardour. He circles a hen, crooning and bowing deeply. She appears unimpressed, fluttering out of reach until, eventually, she relents, crouching down with wings semi-raised. Peak breeding season is March to July, but feral pigeons will lay year-round if they have shelter and a consistent supply of food.<\/p>\n
They\u2019re discreet parents, but from my vantage point I catch glimpses of their domestic life \u2013 nesting material clumsily deposited through the bird mesh, feathers ruffling as they squeeze through a gap to swap incubation duties or feed their young with regurgitated crop milk. The squabs stay hidden until they fledge, suddenly appearing almost fully grown beside the adults. Only the puffs of down poking through their plumage betray their youth.<\/p>\n
This is also the only roof in the cul-de-sac covered in a crust of egg-yolk yellow maritime sunburst lichen (Xanthoria parietina). The flock\u2019s droppings have created ideal nitrogen-rich conditions for this tough lichen to thrive. Its dense, leafy lobes cling to the tiles, forming intricate patterns that add a vibrant splash of colour to the dull suburban roofscape.<\/p>\n
I\u2019m not the only one enjoying the view. My tabby cat perches on the windowsill, chattering softly. The pigeons have nothing to fear from her, but their bright plumage offers little camouflage from the sharp-eyed female sparrowhawk gliding silently overhead. The danger is real \u2013 just a few days ago, I drew back the curtains to discover bloodied white feathers strewn across the street.<\/p>\n