I hadn’t realized what a production nest building was.
Our new neighbors — two doves — started in another spot, a little lower to the ground, a little more exposed to the neighbor’s Siamese cats. They decided after several days of nest building that their chosen spot wasn’t a good place, so they started over again. The new spot is higher and more protected, and they’ve carefully dismantled the partially-built nest and incorporated it into the new one.
I watch one of them (the guy? probably) down in the dirt finding twigs and grasses. He picks one up. No, not good. Tosses it away. Picks another. No. Finally he gets a bundle of twigs and grasses together and takes them up to the nest. The other dove arranges them and tucks in the edges and fusses while the first one goes back down to see what else there is that might work.
Lovely. Really sweet.
Our cat sits at the edge of his nibs’ desk next to the window and watches the doves. She moans and clatters her teeth. So near! So unobtainable!
The doves survived the rain that hit us overnight and this morning, even though the nest is far more exposed than it will be in a month or so when the fig tree is thick with leaves. I’d been worried the rain would drive them off, but they’re still here.
I sit at my desk, working, with their susurrant cooing as background noise.
* a mashup of several Facebook posts and comments
