Our east balcony belongs to the doves. An antique, carved wooden panel with a slim light mounted to the wall decorates this protected alcove. Our first indication that we would soon share this space was the crooked light feature. The doves, like first time homebuyers visited the decorative panel several times before committing to making it the site of their nest.
Our two fledglings and a parent sit on the edge of an empty fountain.
A dove’s nest is a messy affair. A loose weave of twigs and other debris that makes a sandcastle look like a medieval fort. Both doves participated in the collection of building materials. The construction itself proceeded at a leisurely pace, none of the impatience I bring to my own home improvement projects apparent.
We only surmised that the eggs had been laid once there was a dove constantly occupying the nest. Out of respect, we closed the sheer curtains. The few times it has been imperative to water, I venture out as quietly as possible. Bent at the waist to minimize my presence and gingerly carry the overfull bucket suitable for a single trip.
Baby doves, called squabs, make no discernible noise. Nothing like the Disney baby birds chirping away in their nests, demanding the attention of the mother bird. Google searches tell me both the mother and father doves feed the squabs. In our case, I cannot tell the mother and father apart, thus I cannot confirm this information.
The babies, now fledglings, stretch their wings exploring the edge of the planters and railings. In contrast to the relaxed pace of nest siting and construction, their growth from little bumps we could barely make out from the sitting mother to juveniles too big for the nest has been in a literal blink of an eye. The parents remain nearby and conscientiously perched far enough away so as to not bring unwanted attention to their offspring.
Last night, I panicked and turned on the outdoor light because I could not see our two fledglings. They were on the far railing. I went to bed relieved that they were okay and concerned that they might meet an owl or not realize that they had been born on the 5th floor. The world feels like a scary place to be a baby bird.
Our morning routine has shifted since we began sharing our balcony. Before we grab the paper or make coffee, we check the doves. They are our morning doves.
