Our neighbourhood hosts an interesting bunch of characters. One of them is Fritz. Mention him at our local pub and a lively conversation is sure to ensue.

Fritz has won a certain notoriety in Cabbagetown because of his passion for pigeons. Concerned about the welfare of these feathered scavengers, he took to feeding them a number of years back. Twice a day, Fritz would stand out on his third-floor deck and scatter feed.

Pigeons are no fools. (When was the last time you saw a skinny pigeon?) Word got out among the pigeon population and a growing number started showing up for Fritz’s free meals. They are also very considerate guests. They always show up early. Often when I go out in the mornings to walk the dogs, they are assembling.

The downtown Toronto neighbourhood of Cabbagetown is a collection of turn-of-the-20th century brick homes. Tall and skinny handily describes them. Our house, for example, is about four metres wide on a 4.9 metre-wide lot and stands three storeys tall. It is typical of the neighbourhood. So when I say Fritz lives seven houses down, he is still a pretty close neighbour.

But not as close as he is for some. The pigeons wait on the roofs or decks of close-by houses, where they can get a good view of Fritz’s deck doors. Being what they are, the pigeons leave evidence of their sojourn. Over a period of time, that has caused a certain amount of corrosion and disfigurement for some of the houses — and additional expense for their owners.

Neighbours have tried to reason with Fritz but over the course of time, he has become very attached to his guests. He has even built some coops on his deck where he treats hurt or ill pigeons. It came to a head a couple of years back. When discussions didn’t work, the neighbours turned to the courts. They won an injunction and for a while Fritz stopped feeding the pigeons from his third-floor deck.

It was a short-lived victory.

Now we have a newcomer to the neighbourhood who shares Fritz’s passion for pigeons. Twice a day, perched in a large tree two backyards down, a large red-tailed hawk waits for the pigeons to arrive. There he is, his full chest glowing in the morning light, calmly picking out his next meal.

Twice a day, our next-door neighbour tells us, the hawk spreads his wings, swoops off his perch and picks a pigeon — whose desire for food has overridden any natural wariness — out of the sky. Twice a day, the hawk reduces Toronto’s pigeon population. Once he has fed, the hawk disappears. But when I go out with the dogs in the morning, he is back in the tree.

Obviously, the hawk has changed the whole dynamic of Fritz’s relationship with the pigeons. And it certainly has fuelled fresh conversations down at the pub.

No one is blaming the hawk. He — assuming it is a he — is only doing what comes naturally. Can’t blame the pigeons. Hey, a free meal is a free meal.

Maybe you can blame Fritz, but hey, a passion for pigeons is better than no passion at all. So the neighbourhood is waiting to see what comes next. Will the hawk accomplish what the neighbours and the courts couldn’t? Will Fritz stop feeding the pigeons out of concern for their longevity? Or will he feel some responsibility for making sure the hawk is well-fed and continue his feeding regime?

In the meantime, those of us along

Wellesley Street are enjoying the hawk’s presence. He is an impressive visitor and a

welcome diversion. Unless, of course, he develops a taste for cats.

Tessa Wilmott, Editor-In-Chief