Squabs and the Strange Poets Who Write About Them
WTF is a “squab?” Who even knows such a thing, and worse…who writes about it?
Do YOU know?
A “squab” is:
a) Traveling Marla
b) a baby bird
c) a cushiony place for your butt
d) All of the above
Did you guess (d) All of the above?
Ding ding ding! You’re correct. A “squab” is a young bird that has not yet fledged (developed enough to fly). It also refers to a sofa or fluffy cushion, and, er, um, something (or someone) short and round (shall we say “squabbly?” “squabbish?” “squabbed?”) 😉
I wanted to post a photo of the young doves nesting in the Yesterday-Today-Tomorrow bush outside our front door, and find a poem about young doves, because they’re just so cute.
“Pigeons!” Kurt growled, peering into the bush. “That’s what we need…MORE pigeons.” Though I reminded him that ornithologically speaking, we have “doves,” not “pigeons,” no amount of dove-love is going to get him to like any of the birds living, mating, cooing and pooing all over our tin roof.
But I’m smitten, and I wanted to share.
Those of you less smitten will be delighted to know that another definition for the word “squab” refers to young pigeon meat which is used in cooking. Apparently squabs are tasty (tastes like chicken?)
Kurt thinks this is a very fine use for squab, and suggests we try it.
I, in the meantime, still wanted to find something lovely written about squab, but couldn’t go further when I came across this gem…
Toward a better world I contribute my modest smidgin;
I eat the squab, lest it become a pigeon.
Well, that’s my Tuesday in Tshwane.