The mottled grey pigeon tottered over to the gutter. Evidently a more discerning gastronome than his fellow feathered friends, he (I'm assuming here...) seemed desperate to find something more nourishing than the usual fare of flattened and scuffed cigarette butts and the unsavoury half-eaten remnants spilt out of McDonald's wrappers and cartons onto the tarmac. Dipping and bobbing his head he pecked and picked, pecked and picked, tossing bits of roadside detritus into the air with a dismissive flick of his beak before tottering on to peck and pick some more.
And then, after an extended forage, he raised his head up once more, his ungainly totter suddenly morphing into a confident strut, as he triumphantly held up high in his beak for all to see the sweet spoils of success : a scabbed and withered pigeon's foot.
It's a bird eat bird world out there.