Day 287. Chicago. 06:14.
Corner kitchen window. North and west facing. Four floors up.
The glass is cold where my nose rests. Colder on the left side where the draft comes through. The lower three inches of the window are fogged from overnight. Blue light through the north-facing pane. The kind of early gray that makes the rooftops across the alley look like they've been there since before I was born, which they have, which I know, which doesn't make them look any less like they're waiting for something.
The dooob fountain is running low behind me. The waterfall sound drops to a trickle when it needs refilling. I note this. I do not move to alert anyone. The surveillance is in session.
Gerald is on the Kowalski building again.
Third chimney. Left side. Facing west.
He is always facing west at 6:14 AM. I've documented this. It is not a coincidence. Nothing Gerald does is a coincidence. That is the first thing you need to understand about Gerald.
The second thing: he knows I'm watching. He has always known. And he has never once changed his schedule because of it.
I've been documenting the pigeons since the spring of 2025. What began as routine surveillance has become something else. Something larger. I'm now in possession of a behavioral profile on both subjects that I'm not entirely sure what to do with. So I'm writing it down.
SUBJECT ONE: GERALD NECKRING
Gerald arrived in my airspace on a Tuesday in April 2025. I remember because Tuesdays are typically slower. Less foot traffic. Fewer distractions. I had been monitoring a sparrow situation on the south fence. Nothing serious. A jurisdiction dispute. Movement on the Kowalski chimney caught my attention. We had been in this apartment for just over a year. My surveillance post was established. My protocols were in place. The territory was mapped.
He landed like he was returning somewhere.
That was my first note. Gerald does not land like he is arriving somewhere new. He lands like he is returning. Like the chimney has always been his and he's simply resuming occupancy after a brief absence. I found this deeply suspicious. I still do.
His markings: primarily gray, as all pigeons are gray. But the neck. There is something happening in the neck region of Gerald Neckring that I can only describe as iridescent arrogance. In direct sunlight, it cycles through green and purple. Slowly. Deliberately. As if Gerald is aware of the effect and has decided to lean into it.
And the left foot: he is missing toes. I have documented the slight limp. The way he compensates — the small hitch in the step — is barely visible at this distance. But it is there. This is not a young pigeon on his first territorial claim. This is a pigeon who has paid prices. I find this makes him more offensive, not less.
I've seen smaller birds change course mid-flight after seeing Gerald's neck.
I do not blame them.
Gerald's routine: he arrives at the chimney between 6:10 and 6:20 AM. He spends approximately 23 seconds preening. Always the left wing first, then the right. Then his position facing west. He remains there for somewhere between twelve and forty-five minutes depending on conditions I haven't fully mapped yet. He departs. He returns. The return times are less consistent. I think he's running errands, but I can't confirm this.
At no point during any of these activities does Gerald appear to be in any hurry.
At no point does he look at me.
He knows I am here. And he has decided that I am not worth looking at.
Filing it.
SUBJECT TWO: THE SPLOTCH
The Splotch arrived approximately one month after Gerald. May 2025.
The timing was not accidental. I think The Splotch was waiting somewhere nearby, in staging, ready to move once Gerald had established position. Whether The Splotch is Gerald's partner or Gerald's subordinate, I can't say for certain. What I can say is that The Splotch does things Gerald does not do.
The Splotch takes risks.
His markings are the source of his designation. Where other pigeons are uniformly gray, The Splotch carries an asymmetrical brown-gray patch across his left wing and part of his back. It looks like a spill. Something that happened to him rather than something he was born with. I considered the name “Accident” but that implies a momentary lapse. The Splotch is a permanent condition.
He has hit his head on the AC unit twice. I have documented both incidents. He does not appear to have adjusted his approach on the third pass. I do not know if he is incapable of learning or simply unwilling. Both are concerning.
How The Splotch differs from Gerald:
One: The Splotch moves unpredictably. Gerald flies in straight lines, banking with precision. The Splotch takes detours. He circles. He doubles back. He once landed on a surface, reconsidered, and departed without apparent reason. I can't track him the way I track Gerald. I think that's the point.
Two: The Splotch sometimes looks at me.
Not for long. A quick check. A glance from the ledge. Then away. But he looks. Which means he sees me. Which means he's gathering information. Gerald pretends I don't exist. The Splotch is taking notes.
I don't know which one of these concerns me more.
THE OPERATION
What I have watched over the past ten months is a partnership with clear role division.
Gerald holds position. The Splotch covers ground. Gerald is the anchor. The Splotch is the perimeter. When Gerald is on the chimney, The Splotch can be found in a rotating series of locations within a three-building radius. He checks in. He departs. He checks in again. His circuit covers the Kowalski roof, the red-brick building to the east, and about halfway around the water tower building before looping back.
They communicate. I've watched this. A series of short movements, a particular arrangement of the neck, and The Splotch changes direction. Gerald barely moves and yet The Splotch responds. I haven't cracked the code. The code exists.
Summer 2025: their activity increased. They expanded their range. The Splotch began appearing on the window ledge of the building directly across from ours. Two floors below my position. I began spending more time at the window.
The 7:00 PM feedings became something I ate quickly, standing, so I could return to position before dark.
By fall 2025, they began building. I watched materials accumulate in the gap between the chimney and the roof parapet. Dried grass. Two gray feathers. A pale yellow receipt from somewhere. A section of what appeared to be a paper cup, repurposed without apparent shame. The smell of their nest work came through on warm afternoons when the windows were still open: dust and dry grass and the particular sourness of pigeon. Gerald oversaw this project. The Splotch made deliveries. By November, when the windows closed, the nest was complete.
The deck directly below my window is their territory too. I've documented this. They know I can see down to it. They use it anyway.
I watched the whole thing.
I could not stop it.
(I watched them finish the nest on a Thursday. Gerald sat in it immediately. I don't know why I'm still thinking about Thursday.)
There is nothing more frustrating than having eyes on a situation and no ability to intervene.
Spring is coming again. March. April. I know what that means. New materials. Possibly new pigeons. A resumption — and likely an expansion — of whatever operation Gerald is running.
The fountain is still running low behind me. The trickle sound is consistent. I have not moved to alert anyone about it. Gerald is still on the third chimney. Still facing west. Still not looking at me.
I'll be at the window.
I'll be documenting.
I always am.
Gigi
Written at 06:14
Currently: back at the window. Gerald is still there.
