Looking back on it, I can see that the nature of the offense wasn’t primarily aesthetic—even if right after lunch, I had to give a presentation, in a small room, with an unexplained and rather disreputable-looking stain lingering on my pants.  No, I could see that when you’re dealing with pigeons, it’s really the health issues that are foremost.

That’s why I got immediately concerned when pigeons showed up one day at the new outdoor cafe across the street.  The place had been remarkably free of pigeons, until one noontime in May, when I leaned back in my chair to savor the glorious sun-drenched tranquillity of my surroundings, and found some of the miserable things just two tables over.

What were they suddenly doing here?

The answer was three tables over.  Tourists.  Typical camera-bedecked, dithering, group-lobotomy Washington tourists.  This bunch, instead of trying to break off little marble-chip souvenirs of the Kennedy Center, was throwing food to the freaking pigeons.

I glared at them.  Zero effect.  They were oblivious.

To say something, from that distance, would have involved creating more of a public spectacle than I was in the mood for.

Then again, to just sit there and encourage another pestilence of feathered hooligans was more than I could abide.

It was at this point that I began to contemplate the aerodynamic possibilities of a plastic fork.  You had to hold it by the tines...