Flocking Pigeons

Hemingway may have run with the bulls in Pamplona, but he has nothing on me.  I flocked with the pigeons in Formentera.  After a fine lunch and the mandatory vino tinto at Rebate Restaurant, we hurried to Dave and Margaret's home in Formentera on the banks of the Rio Segura to observe the annual pigeon (mating) race.  Our vantage point was the fourth floor roof of their building and it soon turned into the front line of the battle. 

 A brief synopsis:  A fertile female is presented to a host of anxious males, and the race is on.  The males had been painted with vegetable dye, in the pattern and colors of their respective owners, but the female is left in her natural colors.  After wheeling and soaring, the female will eventually select her beau from the constantly competing males and then they will settle in somewhere and start cooing and billing, among other activities.   It is then that the event judge must identify the successful male and announce the winner to the crowd.  The proud owner then collects unbelievable amounts of money.  I've been told that the prize is often in the tens of thousands of Euros.

Before that happened, we were surprised to have the flock of males settle onto the roof with us and start their pecking, puffing up and jostling among themselves in order to eliminate competitors and put on the best show for the lucky damsel.  We found ourselves fluttered upon, stepped and landed on and herded from corner to railing by aggressive and human-contemptuous males sporting  all colors of the rainbow.

As dusk settled, we were hailed by the judge down on the street.  Apparently the reluctant lady had hidden in a tree and the contest was being called off till the coming Wednesday.  We were asked to shoo/launch/or otherwise evict the male horde which was more interested in procreating than it was scared of us.  The things you are called upon to do when you don't have a shotgun!