The end of pidginization.

"It often happens that, to communicate with each other, two or more people use a language in a variety whose grammar and vocabulary are very much reduced in extent and which is native to neither side. Such a language is a pidgin."
How can you teach an old pigeon new tricks? Once you finally gained their trust to make them stop awhile, how long can you keep them still enough to take a quick snapshot that will clearly document the comfortable state you managed to safely bring them in? ...only to see them flying away again in their own mistakes, whilst taking away a solid crumb of you in flight as well.
They never have a destination, except perhaps in winter time when they have a warm yet wooden nest always awaiting on them: a shelter offering an overly estimated comfort for their weak, fine-china bodies. And so, when these faint-hearted bundle of feathers are not on their own, but in homely company, they can stay still for ever, and you can steal as many snapshots of their identities as you wish, enough to build a wonderful feathery album that will keep a truth alive only in pictures.
Fat and content, the pigeon would then fly back to you for more crumbs, intently turning a blind eye on previous portraits of itself from your record. You'd see it modestly posing, even if now the camera lies settled like a rifle cozy in your hands, ready to go off on the pigeon's first deploring coo! Using this instrument will thus keep the gutter bird away from any unnecessary spotlight, while it would pigeonhole it back into an even more unnecessary hiding. A Pavlovian camera on a never-ending timer shall do the trick too.
Note to self: handling with care is now no longer necessary.
'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel--
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.'