“A graceful, slender-tailed, small-headed dove that’s common across the continent. Mourning Doves perch on telephone wires and forage for seeds on the ground; their flight is fast and bullet straight. Their soft, drawn-out calls sound like laments. When taking off, their wings make a sharp whistling or whinnying. Mourning Doves are the most frequently hunted species in North America.
Unbothered by nesting around humans, Mourning Doves may even nest on gutters, eaves, or abandoned equipment.*”
*Birds of America”
And so did these two. I noticed that when I opened our front door two mourning doves often took flight, but I paid little attention to them. I asked Jadyne if she noticed, too. They were there later that morning. Then we noticed this.
And this!
The male liked to hang out on the bench on the front deck and revel in his beauty.
Grooming himself…
It’s a public place. This jay was eying the nest, wondering if she might be a better fit.
When not preening, the male went to work, bringing her all that she needed to make a home for their children.
We put up a sign on our front gate, reminding visitors to tread softly, to use the slider, not the front door. We watched anxiously as he brought her stick after stick. We had read that they typically take two to four days to build a nest. We were ready.
Then last night they left. Dinner out? A date? A menage a trois? Two days ago they spent the night away, then returned the next morning. She lay on the light. He brought sticks. it was a match made in heaven.
Then this morning, nothing. No nest. No sticks. No eggs, no mourning doves, just a collection of his gifts to her, scattered on our front porch. We’ll wait one more day, then take the sign down. I miss them already.
