They’re back a fourth time this summer: the tile pieces, bits of string, feathers, crooked sticks, and metal castoffs have begun congregating in the corner of my balcony yet again. I dawn my yellow, rubber gloves – the fourth pair as they’re thrown out every time I complete this ritual – and head out to the familiar corner with dustpan and brush in-hand. I don’t see them. Stooping down, I gather up the now-familiar pile and parade it back to the garbage. In it goes and out goes the garbage. They’re pretty persistent – always going back to the same spot. I’m pretty fed up. There’s a point when being persistent becomes being a nuisance and these pigeons are just that.