You eat at an outdoor cafe in any city – San Diego, Madrid – and you’ll see pigeons at your feet, begging. Not nearly as cute as ducks and not as popular in beach art as seagulls, but definitely ever-present. And kind of mesmerizing, in their beady-red-eyed way. But for the hundreds of pigeons that gather when I fling my sandwich crusts onto the cement, not a single one is a pig-let. What’s the deal, nature? Where are your young?

Urban Bigfoot?

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