No (More) Duh

The baby dove (dovelings? squab?) have fledged. Their parent gave up the nest, and the mom returned once to feed the slow starter one last meal. The baby danced and worried her until she disgorged his prize, and by afternoon she was gone. The older bird flew off two days before, and returned that night to keep the smaller bird company--huddling together to scare off the cold, and the strange creatures lurking near by. The older bird left the next morning, and the baby waited another day before consigning himself the the fact that he was on his own-and flew off.

The nesting process was time consuming, from what I could tell from my window; and the parents were more concerned with getting their nest under the eaves ready, than they were my curiosity. Once the mom sat and the babies arrived, three sets of eyes met mine one morning as I peered out the window. The babies, once left alone would keep vigilance, stare intently, and note every movement, until mom or dad returned.

We call them Duh. A while back, I was working in the garden, and my husband came out to talk to me. As he approached, he was talking, and as he approached I noted the Dove pecking peacefully away on the tidbits of bird seed by my feet, scattered by the careless jays. "Dove", I said. "Well, Duh to you too. Don't be such a smart ass," he said. "I said, "Dove"," I said, and laughed. He did too.

So now, one baby approaches me with out fear--walks calmly up to me in the garden, and then slips by to forage on tidbits. "You had better get smart real fast buddy, or you're cat food," I said.

I want to take the remnants of the nest down so I can wash the windows, but maybe it can wait.