I hear a caw and turn to see three crows sitting on a branch just outside my window, staring in with their cold, blank eyes. A pigeon, just out of sight, coos loudly. Overhead a seagull swoops past at an alarming speed.

There was a time when I wasn’t bothered by birds. It feels like a lifetime ago, but I’ll even go as far to say I quite liked them. A little piece of nature within the confines of downtown. The closest most city-dwellers will get to spotting something wild. I remember seeing a pigeon on my balcony when I first moved into this apartment. I remember thinking how great it was, nature on my doorstep. What a fool I was.

These birds, these winged demons, have become the bane of my existence. They invade my home. They ruin my car’s gleam. They haunt my fleeting steps as I leave the apartment. I lay in bed at night, rocking back and forth in the fetal position, listening to their taunts until exhaustion takes hold and dreams overcome me. Even in the dreams, I cannot escape them.

It all started with a pigeon.

A single pigeon on the balcony, what harm could it do? Sure, it was a little noisy occasionally, but it wasn’t too bothersome. I left it there and was out of town for two weeks. Stepping onto my balcony after I returned, I knew I had been terribly wrong. It was as if the balcony had been abandoned for years. Six pigeons were now calling it their home. They were also calling it their toilet. The wall and floor were covered in droppings, and the herbs in my planter box had been stepped on and crushed. The noise was overwhelming. My balcony had become a cruising zone for wanton pigeons. They cooed and they cooed, looking for their next casual encounter.

The following morning, I was the victim of a senseless attack. Unbeknownst to me, I had a silent stalker in pursuit as I made my way to the car. Just before reaching the door, a crow dropkicked me in the back of the head. It then flew up to a telephone line and proceeded to laugh at me, each caw cutting into my very being.

Each day the agony continues. I’ve chicken wired the balcony. Does the wire keep them out or keep me in? It no longer matters. As I leave my apartment and walk down the dark street, I see a man pushing pigeons away from his ground-floor balcony with a broom. Our eyes meet, and I nod my head to him. He knows instantly that we suffer from the same pain. This pain, it changes men. We move inconspicuously through the crowds, our torment hidden from the populace, but this change is unmistakable to those who know, those who have faced the birds.

It’s a losing battle we fight, but fight we must.