No peace with the damn pigeons

One of the annual rituals that comes with living Phoenix is the fall planting of the rye grass. You see, we have the summer and the winter grass here. In the summer a hearty Bermuda grass grows. As the temperatures cool it goes dormant and people who want to preserve their yards have to plant a softer, greener rye grass.
And so like clockwork home owners spend their weekends in October and November making the transition. And as sure as the sun rises in the East their yards are pillaged by roving bands of pigeons, ready to gorge on the gluttony provided by the freshly sown seeds.
When I did this for the first time last year I decided to take a diplomatic approach. I planted my seeds but I also put an ample pile of leftover seed in my neighbors yard to serve as both a diversion and an offering of understanding. They would be fed but I would also have my yard.
That approach worked for nothing. The moment that I put down the manure to cover the seed I noticed a scout pigeon of in the distance on a neighbors roof. It almost appeared that the manure was a beacon, me turning on the neon "open" sign if you will. Within minutes about 20 pigeons landed on the house across the street and patiently waited for my departure.
I left and what ensued was a avian orgy of the worst variety. I returned home and was greeted by the sight of these pigeons gorging themselves and what was supposed to be my lawn. Bastards! They did not accept my offering. Their obesity also revealed that they weren't eating out of necessity but for pleasure.
I charged them in anger. They casually flew away and waited. I waited until they returned and then charged once again. They made a minimal effort and flew away. This act would repeat itself for the several days until what was left of the seed had sprouted.
Initially I tried to make peace with these birds. They haughtily rejected my offering. Now there is now peace between us. I have attempted to hurt them by hurling stones. They have responded by leaving turds on my car. I have cursed them in my human tongue. They have left turds in my lawn. I lost the upper hand.
They no longer bother me because there is no seed left. But this act will repeat itself next year. I have no doubt that those mongrels will get their share of my seed. But I intend to make them earn every last kernel.