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Every morning I walk up to an office I share with my father. A dedicated ornithophile (look it up), he installed a bird feeder (there’s your context clue) right outside the window my desk is facing.

There is something peaceful, and at the same time, very disturbing about the energy coming from the birds that visit this bird feeder. The only way I can describe it is if you’ve ever had lawn seats to a Dave Matthews concert. The music is good, but I can only listen to so much, and there always seems to be too many people trying to occupy the same space.

The birds gather around to feast on seeds throughout the day with no regard for the birds beside them. One of them comes alone. This little fella comes back again and again, and keeps eating and eating and eating. He can’t get enough.

Is this bird being fat shamed by the other birds? Is that why he’s alone? Would this bird ever reach a point of becoming so large it couldn’t fly? Would his feathery friends accommodate him because he couldn’t make the distances they could? Would they secretly judge and worry about their hefty comrade behind closed nests?

I pictured this chubby, winged creature waddling into his living room and putting his swollen feet on a pile of twigs. He probably has overgrown talons because he can’t reach them over his bird belly.

This excited me because once upon a time my friend Allie and I came up with the idea for an animated sitcom called “Pigeon Pads.” It was a Family Guy style series about pigeons in their twenties and their bachelor and bachelorette pads. That was as far as we got with the idea, but here was this sweet nugget of a character. We may or may not have come up with this idea while we were paddle boating down a canal in Amsterdam. I’ll let you do the math on that one.

I looked over my shoulder at my dad and asked, “do you think a bird could get so fat it wouldn’t be able to fly?” My dad looked over his glasses and replied, “that bird’s pregnant.”

Got Eggs?: Project
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