Playing for Time

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If you’ve been following the Dove Tales, I need to update you a little. Let’s see, where were we…

The couple renting our balcony condo this summer, Bonnie and Clyde, have birthed and dispatched two sets of fledglings so far, the most recent being Orville and Wilbur, the Flight brothers. We left town for the day last Friday and when we checked the nest there was just one baby parked in it. Orville had clearly flown the coop earlier, but there sat Wilbur, stubborn as a post and seemingly disinclined to make any drastic change in his status. We told each other that was okay, he’d figure it out by the time we got home.

We get home and Wilbur’s still solidly ensconced in the familial nest, but now Bonnie and Clyde are using every trick at their disposal to try to dislodge him. They called repeatedly from the opposite railing. They stood and berated him from the sidelines. Finally they resorted to taking turns trying to literally shove him out, pushing mightily under his fat bottom but making no headway. Such was the state of things when we went to bed. Next morning the nest was empty and we’ll never know how the story really ended, as is the case with all wildlife attachments. We choose to picture fat little Wilbur out there in the East Lawrence forest, loving all the seeds available to him and eventually finding a round little wife with whom to raise a family. THE END.

As it turns out there was a bit of an emergency underway, which became clear as things progressed. B&C had obviously let Wilbur stay past his welcome and by the time they sent him on his way it was time for Round Three. The two of them disappeared for the afternoon in order to fill their bellies to sustain them for the required hours, then were back in the evening, literally billing and cooing on the railing before disappearing into the middle of the ferns where they can’t be seen with the naked eye. There are likely two eggs in the nest by now. When we’re afforded a glimpse I’ll let you know.