You are about to listen to an imagined conversation between the passenger pigeon living in this diorama and one living outside the diorama, except no passenger pigeons exist anymore so for this stop we got a Rock pigeon to fill in.
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Passenger Pigeon: Hello? Is anyone there?

No Response.

Passenger Pigeon: There used to be so many of us. I remember flying with billions, migrating together from Canada, across the United States, down to the Gulf of Mexico. The skies were filled with wings. We moved constantly, filling forests, fields, cities—blocking out the sun. But now, it’s so quiet!

Rock Pigeon: Hate to break it to you... You’re not really here anymore. You’ve been gone since 1914. Most people say it was overhunting and the feather trade that did it. You were admired, and then you were used up. Now you’re preserved—part of the museum’s memory. Maybe a warning. Meanwhile, I’ve taken over the city. I don’t fly much, but I’ve made a life on the ground—sidewalks, subway grates, scaffolding. I eat whatever’s thrown my way. You could say I rule New York now. But it’s a different kind of survival.
Passenger Pigeon: So we’re extinct. All of us?

Rock Pigeon: Yes. You were the most abundant bird in North America once. Now, you’re in a glass case. People didn’t understand how quickly populations could collapse. They assumed abundance meant infinity.
Passenger Pigeon: Do they understand that now?

Rock Pigeon: To some extent. Your extinction helped shift the way people thought about wildlife and conservation. It became a turning point. But even today, species are disappearing faster than ever. The causes are different now: habitat loss, climate change, pollution. But the outcome looks the same.
Passenger Pigeon: Then maybe this is why I’m still here. To remind them how quickly billions can become none.