Metaphor for My Life - The Birds?

When I say The Birds I do not mean the Hitchcock film, although, that being said, my hatred/fear of birds is only exacerbated by it.  However, the point of this post is not famous films but birds.  Pigeons to be more precise.

I hate pigeons.  They are dirty, obnoxious, and dauntingly attempt to splatter you from above, dropping white bombs of pure hatred.  So why is it that despite my hatred of pigeons, part of what I love about New York is pigeons?  There is something that is so New York about a pigeon flocked park.  Maybe Home Alone (one, two, three?  who knows) did it to me but I am programmed to see a pigeon in a pack and think of NYC. 

So is it hate or is it love?  More of an awkward respect.  They promise not to shit on me and I will promise not to accidentally kick them when they get in my way.