On Sunday, Mark Bourrie posted this as his Facebook Status update:
“It is cold enough in Ottawa today to toss boiling water into the air and see it turn to ice fog and disappear before it hits the ground. Big hit here among the under 12 set.”
I thought this very interesting.
As I have a curious and exciting mind, I tried this theory out from our first floor balcony on Queen Street East in Toronto. Using the still boiling water from my pot of Kraft Dinner, I attempted to throw it out over the street, imaging a striking puff of fog—as if conjured by a master magician—and then the still and mysterious quiet of nothing.
Unbeknownst to me, a pigeon was sitting perched on my railing. When I threw the water, the bird– perhaps mortified by the freezing temperature– did not move in time and was completely doused/scalded by my science experiment.
I did not know a pigeon could shriek in such a manner, and the bird, now in mid-fly, suddenly plummeted to Queen Street beneath, where it was fun over by several vehicles and then quickly scavenged by a street people.
Obviously, this accident was very traumatic for me and it took several hours before I felt strong enough to attempt the experiment again.
This time the boiling water I threw off our balcony hit the windshield of a taxicab that was driving along the street. The taxi screeched to a halt, skidding a bit to the left, before the driver, throwing open his door, leapt out onto the street and started screaming at everybody and everything around him.
I was pretty shocked that this had happened and a little bit stunned, and just sort of stood there on the balcony staring, my mouth agape. As if in slow motion, the cab driver looked up and spotted me. Shaking his fist he yelled, “You in the housecoat! You did this to me!! You are a danger, a criminal! You are a fuck!!”
Just as I started to bolt, a streetcar came along and knocked the open door right off his car, which slid perhaps 20 feet along the icy road. The driver, as if divinely stricken, fell to his knees in a state of abject despair. I left the apartment via the backdoor, returning late that night after having seen two movies (Black Swan and 127 Days) and spending a couple of hours in a local bar.
When I got home there was no evidence of the tragedies that had unfolded earlier in the day, but for a soft, mournful cooing that came from our balcony, a sad and lonely testament to the fact that pigeons mate for life.